In the Same Ol' Crescent City
by D-chan
Summary: Nearly a decade after Klaus left Mystic Falls, Caroline is at last drawn to New Orleans. But when she finds the hybrid as King and father, all the expectations she kept at bay come crashing down around her. Klaus offers to show her his city, yet struggles to reconcile emotions for the woman he intended to spend the end of their eternity with and the child he's dedicated to...
1. Chapter 1: Welcome to New Orleans

I do not own Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters therein. I also do not own New Orleans, though I do highly recommend the cuisine.

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><p>She was only visiting to sight-see. That was all. Seriously. No other reason.<p>

Caroline mentally repeated this mantra as she dragged her luggage into the gated apartment community. Just a visit. Furnished apartments were a better deal than the local hotels, and they afforded much more privacy. This way, she lacked for nothing and only had to bring the essentials: her car, casual clothes, party dresses, clubbing dresses, sneakers, pumps, leggings, jewelry, hair dryer, hair straightener, hair spray, dry shampoo, curling iron, stiff brush, soft brush, comb, pajamas… just the basics any girl would need.

Her basics took the better part of the night to unpack. Thus far, Caroline had allowed the air conditioner to keep her cool, but it was nearing midnight. Muffled noises from the streets caught her attention; reminded her of a need for fresh air.

First she showered, pleased to wash the muggy sweat that seemed to cling from the streets. Once she stepped into her most comfortable pajamas—cotton pink shorts and a worn white tee she'd had since her freshman year—Caroline opened the windows of her bed- and living room.

She was not disappointed.

Steady thrums of tuba and drums underscored the boisterous harmonic blasts of trumpets, clarinets, and a trombone. Caroline could see the band from her bedroom window, and she couldn't help but admire the deft redhead's fingers as they danced across his well-loved clarinet. Oh, the perks of keen vampire sight; the player's expression was blissful, and not a single one of his bandmates lacked for passion, either.

While the band was certainly the jazzy highlight of entertainment, the throng of locals milling about were quite colorful in their own manner. Caroline was struck with how vastly different the pub crawl fashion was here. Especially compared to Virginia. Women decked themselves with tassels of all colors of the rainbow; some simultaneously. Jewels both faux and true glittered with each subtle turn or flick of the wrist. Several men went shirtless, even the far less fit. The old lamplights didn't offer to conceal any flaws, though added unique tone to the atmosphere.

"Well, that was more back hair than I ever thought I'd see," she muttered.

The bare flesh and cacophony of rapid, drunken pulses awoke her thirst. Caroline left for the hidden sanctity of her tiny kitchen. It was a wonder finding any room with semblance of privacy in the city, but her usual persistence had, as always, paid off handsomely.

Just as she'd hoped, wine glasses were included with the furnishings. She washed the dust out of one, pulled a blood bag from the refrigerator, and filled her glass.

Delightful as treating the bags as a Capri Sun could be, it somehow didn't suit this city lifestyle.

Not that it was a permanent arrangement.

She was just visiting.

Tantalizing as the party life was for her, Caroline was intent on rest tonight. Even a no-nonsense vampire—her, obviously—needed sleep after a 16-hour road trip. Besides, by the time she would be dressed, primped, and clacking her way down to the streets, any good party would be past the peak point and well into a mess of drama and vomit.

Ew.

She paused to close the living room window. After a moment's consideration, Caroline drew the curtains as well.

But by the time she reached her new—_temporary_—room, the hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Something wasn't right. It freaking figured. Since her turn to vampire a decade ago, two things had never changed: her stunning seventeen year-old good looks (thank _goodness_ she'd been fortunate enough to look mature for her age, something that could never bite her in the ass with age now) and her propensity for attracting danger.

_Must be a vampire thing,_ she thought with annoyance. Honestly, there were downsides to eternal life. Something she wished Katherine had explained to her _before_ smothering her with a sterile hospital pillow.

Either way, she was on her guard. So when she turned to look back into her living room, it didn't surprise her to find a man standing in her living room. Smiling. Hands clasped before him. Waiting.

"Excuse you," she said, tipping the wine glass to her mouth. "I didn't ask for company."

The man chuckled softly, glancing around her place as he strode toward her. His manner was deceivingly calm. Sensing coiled energy within him, Caroline did her best to plant her feet and show nothing more than an expectant eyebrow raise.

"Funny thing about apartments," the man said. His voice was smooth, polished with a friendliness that put her both at ease and on edge. "Tenants don't own the space, no matter what lease they sign. Landlords are easy to compel. But, if you weren't a baby vampire, you'd know that, I'm sure."

Caroline wasn't about to admit her lack of experience. Even if the tidbit about apartments made perfect sense. "Obviously it wouldn't have mattered," she said in her best condescending voice. "As we vampires can't own a home or space anyway."

"Very true," he conceded. "It's just an interesting choice, is all."

She tipped her chin up a bit. "I'm just visiting for a little while. No need to make a fuss."

"Ahhh." The man drew out his acknowledgement far longer than necessary. "See, I wish it were that simple. But it's not." He took no issue with invading her personal space, going so far as to take the glass from her hand and sip. Caroline scrunched her nose in disgust.

To her pleasure, he mimicked the expression. "Old blood," he tsked. "Not nearly as good as from the vein."

She flashed him a patronizing smile. "I prefer to exert some self-control. It's a thing. You can Google it."

"No need." To her ire, he upturned the glass onto her carpet. The _landowner's_ carpet, she corrected herself.

"Are you insane?" she demanded. "Do you know how long it takes to get blood stains out?"

He smiled again. Unnervingly, even when his mouth didn't curve, his eyes always seemed to smile. This man was certainly disarming. "Just compel your fee back when you leave."

That was telling. "So I'm free to stay, despite your _rude_ intrusion."

He shrugged and took a step back. "That's not up to me." His dark eyes raked over her, assessing her stance, her body language. "I'm just the messenger."

Her heart throbbed. Caroline slapped away the pictures in her head. Even so, her conscious mind betrayed her, gleefully filtering memories past her attempts to block. Images of a cocky smirk and the sound of intense words that spilled from that sensual mouth. She suppressed a shudder.

Her uninvited guest seemed to notice. If anything, he was pleased by her reaction, apparently mistaking it for fear. "Everyone has to meet the King. You're not being singled out, baby vamp."

"Oh, lucky me," she muttered. _The King?_ she inwardly shrieked. What exactly had been going on in this city? She knew he'd come down here, but not once had he divulged his plans. And yet… the King. How easily she could see him crowning himself. He'd been arrogant enough from day one; she imagined he always had been.

Rather than give voice to her thoughts, Caroline flipped her hair over her shoulder and held out her hand. Amazingly, the intruder just handed the glass back. Apparently he wasn't completely hell-bent on destroying property.

"So when do I _have_ to meet this king?" she asked dryly.

The man shook his head, slowly retreating toward the door. "Soon," he promised. "If you're still around in a couple days, I'll bring him to you."

"I planned to sight-see," she said bluntly. "That's why I'm here, you know. It's a vacation."

He glanced around, taking careful note of the open, half-full walk-in closet and her styling accoutrements on the dresser. "An extended stay, from the looks of it." He flashed that deadly charming smile again. "I won't keep you up. But I hope I am the first to say…" He spread his hands on either side of him. Caroline immediately zeroed in on the stake he seemed to produce out of nowhere—probably that damned jacket. Who wore a jacket on a muggy night like this?

Just as the thought finished its race across her mind, the man threw the weapon at her with deadly accuracy. Not wanting to chance catching it a moment too late in such close proximity, Caroline darted to the left. The stake hit the wall, sinking into the plaster.

_Are you kidding me?_ she raged inwardly.

"Welcome to New Orleans."

When she turned, the man was gone and she was alone again.

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><p><em>AN: Just as a note, it has been a long, LONG time since I've seriously taken on a multi-chapter fanfic (the latest Klaroline smut adventure not included-I honestly don't know why it won't stop writing itself). The chapters for this will be short, and released as my hectic schedule allows. I don't know precisely how long this will be, but I don't intend for it to get more than 10 chapters at the very, very most. Also, I positively thrive on constructive criticism. If my characters seem off, if my grammar is atrocious, or even if I've just plain made a spelling error, I encourage you to let me know._


	2. Chapter 2: Oil & Water

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters therein, though I have taken artistic liberty with one character from TO in particular.

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><p>"You're being unreasonable."<p>

And that was it. Screw decorum, he didn't owe her an "I think" half-assed rebuttal. She lived in his home, did her duties (even if quite admirably at times), and still he would now allow her to talk to him that way. He was Niklaus Mikaelson, the new King of New Orleans. _Nobody_ spoke to him in such a manner.

She shot him an exasperated look, obviously long since used to his mannerisms. "I'm unreasonable. Sure," she said flatly. "She's still not going."

Klaus lowered his voice, advancing on the woman who dared talk back to him even after all these years. "She's seen more bloodshed than even you at her age. A party can hardly corrupt her worse."

"Oh, it can, and you know it," she shot back. "You'd _love_ it, in fact."

She had him there.

Klaus rolled his eyes. In the end, what did it matter? So he lost some bonding time. Surely he could make up for it some other night. Perhaps a literal witch hunt would be more beneficial.

"Fine," he ground out, refusing to reveal his willingness to capitulate so easily. "You can be the babysitter for the night."

"It's called being a parent. Try it sometime."

"Yes, Hayley, you are just the picture of perfect motherhood," he mocked. Though, as far as mothers went, he could certainly think of worse. Klaus ignored her scoff and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room. Really, what difference would it make? Just a few more years would make a world of a difference.

It wasn't that he couldn't see her point. A part of him raged at the thought of anybody attempting to take advantage of his flesh and blood, no matter the circumstances. All the same, he had no patience for pretending an introduction to debauchery was completely out of the picture. Hayley was a fool if she thought acting the hovering mother would protect their daughter from the truths of the world.

He strode down the halls, taking the twists and turns until he found his own room. Upon opening the door, all entertaining thoughts of taking his daughter for a night on the town were obliterated.

"What. Is. This."

At his snarl a tiny head swiveled to look at him. Guileless hazel eyes peered up from a tangle of curly rust-tinged hair, though the innocent effect was ruined by the devious glimmer the child earned from both mother and father.

"Daddy, I painted," said Hope proudly.

Klaus far from shared in her elation. He stepped ominously closer to his child, eyes narrowing at her crude handiwork. Paints and brushes were scattered all over the carpet, his own works disheveled from their original places. His artwork could, at times, clutter the space, but this was just a catastrophe.

To make things worse, the damn kid hadn't even embarked on her own painting. Instead she'd made the fateful decision to "improve" upon one of his. One that plagued him, because the image in his mind never matched what he wanted to see on the canvas.

Klaus snatched the brushes from her small hands. The defiant look that usually made his chest swell with pride now heated his rage to a white-hot point. Oh, how she looked far too much like her mother right then. She had most of his features, but those damnable eyes just served to grate on him if he was in a mood less than pleasant.

"Out," he snarled.

Hope folded her arms, jutting out her jaw as she stared up at him. "I like it better this way," she said.

"_Out_, before I change my mind and beat you within an inch of your life," he roared.

If Hope was afraid, she didn't show it. Still, she knew when her antics had gone too far and headed toward the door. In a last show of insubordination, she spun around, stuck out her tongue, and sped off with inhuman speed.

Klaus clenched his teeth, willing the pulsating in his brain to calm. Shouting would do no good, he already knew. Hope was as stubborn as her parents, unfortunately. Even worse, she had her father's propensity for prodding at people until the poor victim was liable to explode.

He loved his daughter, but dammit if there weren't days he wished to just ship her off with Elijah until he drilled some respect and sense into her.

Klaus set about cleaning, trying not to make a storm out of it. The stains in the carpet were irreversible. Once again, he'd have to have them ripped out and changed. Was that a process that ever ended? It often seemed he was doomed to replace things his child broke or destroyed. Why couldn't she be reasonable and restrict her destruction to those who dared to disobey or go against their family? If he had to toss the rugs, at least bloodstains made sense and gave him something to be happy about with her development.

He did his best to stay away from the painting Hope had ruined. Bad enough the image was burned into his brain; he didn't want to destroy it completely in a rage, not if it could be salvaged in any manner.

_It's watercolor,_ a nasty voice in his mind nagged. _Better to start from scratch than salvage now._

Klaus had finished cleaning and was standing between his bed and the destroyed art, arms crossed and teeth gnashing, when a firm knock on the door pulled him away.

"Come in," he said tersely.

He knew immediately from the smell it wasn't Hayley or Hope. Klaus turned, shifting subtly to block the bulk of the painting from his guest's eye.

Marcellus took note of his expression. "Hey, man, I can always come back later."

That he could. Still, Klaus nodded for him to make himself comfortable. "I assume this is something of importance."

Marcellus shot him a half amused, half wary look. "Depends on your mood," he hedged.

Klaus's mouth twitched into a small smile.

Taking his cue, Marcellus finally relaxed. Though their camaraderie during the war to take back New Orleans had been rife with fury, betrayal, and petty in-fighting, in the end Klaus had never been more grateful to have a man such as Marcellus on his side. He'd never say that his old friend's aid had turned the tides, at least not to his face. But the fact was teaming up with Marcellus and his lot had been more beneficial than harmful.

There were times Klaus could see the seething resentment Marcellus held for being usurped. But, for now, bygones were bygones.

Besides, Klaus still wouldn't hesitate to tear the man's beating heart from his chest should he turn his back on him again.

"We have a visitor." That was Marcellus, quick to cut to the chase.

Klaus smirked. "Tourist?"

"She claims so. I'm not so certain." Marcellus rolled his eyes. "How many tourists do you know who rent out apartments when they're just sight-seeing?" The quotation marks around the last word were unspoken, but apparent just in the way Marcellus rolled the syllables off his tongue.

Finally, something to boost his mood. Klaus smiled to himself, relishing his options. "Well then, we'll just have to introduce ourselves officially, won't we?"

"I may have already welcomed her to the city."

"That was charitable of you," said Klaus. He strode away from his position in the room, mulling over the details. "When is she due for a visit?"

"I told her I'd find her soon enough," Marcellus informed him. He shifted his weight in Klaus's periphery. "But judging by the clothes she had hanging, I'll bet you money she'll be prowling the streets tonight."

_Tonight._ This was even better. A way for Klaus to get some sort of tension relief. "I had intended on joining some of the Mardi Gras festivities either way," he mused. Then he turned to Marcellus, flashing him a wolfish grin. "Care to join me, mate?"

Marcellus decided to show off brilliantly white teeth in response. It had been far too long since they had taken to the streets together. "I'll be more than happy to point her out." Then a thought seemed to occur to him, his smile fading a notch. "Are we on babysitting duty?"

Klaus scoffed. "Hope will not be out tonight," he said coldly. No need to add that it was largely due to Hayley's nagging persistence. "If you haven't noticed, she's been quite the destructive little cretin." He waved a hand angrily toward his carpet.

"Uh, can't say that I have," Marcellus said mildly. Then, for the first time, he seemed to really look back where Klaus had stood before. Too late did the hybrid king realize his mistake. His shoulders tensed, but he made no move to hide the painting. That would just raise suspicion. And if Marcellus knew what was good for him, he'd acknowledge the work as an insignificant scribble and meander on with his life.

Unfortunately, Marcellus's dark eyes took in the sight. The muscles of his face twitched, vividly displaying his puzzlement.

"Is there a problem?" Klaus couldn't contain the growl that escaped with his demand.

Marcellus finally tore his eyes away, shaking his head. His expression went back to suspiciously neutral. "Sorry about the hellion. I'll get one of the guys to replace the carpet," he offered.

Klaus was hardly placated, but he nodded anyway. His mood ruined once again, he said, "If there's nothing else."

His subordinate took the hint.

Once the door closed behind Marcellus, Klaus turned back to the painting. It had been a ridiculous oversight to leave this within a child's reach, he supposed. But that didn't mean he had to stand for what had been done. It was one of those projects he kept starting over, using different paints, different brushes, new strokes and techniques. Yet the inspiration was never enough to condense all his expertise into perfection.

Now red oil slashed in crisscrosses over the blonde's profile on the canvas. His brat had deliberately mixed oil and water. Klaus scowled at the picture, resisting the urge to trace a lock of curling blonde hair. Perhaps, he reasoned, Marcellus had assumed he was attempting a portrait of Camille. Not that the two had much in common, aside from flaxen tresses and a stubborn streak

But for Marcellus's sake, he hoped that was what had gone through the man's head. Any further curiosity was not something Klaus wanted either explored or exploited.

Disgusted, Klaus ripped the portrait from the easel and smashed it. No, he decided. He would not attempt to fix such a horrid marring of the one person he respected most in this world.

It was always best to start from scratch.

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><p><em>AN: So, I've gotten a couple reviews already expressing the hope for no baby. I'll take the time to say here that the latest episodes I have seen are TVD S6E6 and TO S2E6. I am working with the canon and, obviously, taking liberties from there. I realize Klaus having a child has been a massively controversial issue within the fandom, but please understand that, to me, this makes for perfect dramatic and emotional fodder. Also, particularly after the TO season 1 finale, I'm of the opinion that this child is essential to Klaus's shift in priority and personality, even if it's just a little bit. I don't want to say more without giving away my ideas. I just wanted to get all of that out of the way. My goal is that the quality of story ought to outweigh personal opinions on premises from either show, so hopefully I end up doing that._

_Thanks for reading._


	3. Chapter 3: Mardi Gras

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any of the characters. I also do not own Mardi Gras or the debauchery of New Orleans.

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><p>She had to go out tonight. Mardi Gras had been pretty much <em>the<em> reason she had come to visit New Orleans in the first place. Sure, a particular recommendation had made the place sound even more enticing, but this was her _jam_. Partying wildly into the night with a bunch of strangers was just her thing, albeit a major difference being she normally had some sort of familiar company. And for once Caroline wouldn't be playing the role of the steely coordinator that ensured utter perfection.

Admittedly, a part of her died inside upon that acknowledgement. After all, wasn't half the fun of a party watching everybody else enjoy your meticulous handiwork?

Not so much, she admitted. At least, not for most. That was just one of her more fortunate quirks. Bring the glitz, glam, and soapy buckets. Go in with dazzling style, and out with a dirty mop in her hand. That was the sort of experience that gave her satisfaction of a job well done.

Blowing hair from her face, Caroline stared in mild disgust at her closet. Not that she wasn't always at the height of sensible and stylish fashion, but even she had underestimated the glamor of New Orleans nightlife. Nothing she had seemed good enough.

Well, that's what shopping was for.

Nodding to herself, Caroline went back to the bathroom clad in only a towel. She pinned her hair back, meticulously applied her daytime makeup, and went foraging for practical shopping clothes: leggings, a long slinky grey shirt, wide white belt, and boots.

Fabulous.

Caroline took to the streets that day, choosing to walk. For as sketchy an area as she had chosen to live in, she counted herself lucky to find an apartment complex with a community garage. Her car was infinitely safer there, she reasoned. Though she should probably check on it later. After all, it seemed she'd made an enemy just by moving in—_temporarily, of course_—so at the very least the supernatural citizens were jumpy.

New Orleans didn't seem much different from nighttime. Then again, she realized, the Mardi Gras celebration had been going on for a few days before she'd arrived. Tonight was the final night, and from the looks of the preparations, it was gearing up to be a night to remember.

Caroline slipped into the first store she saw with suitable attire. She hated to admit that she had no idea where to start, but that was hardly going to stop her. She was Caroline Forbes, Planner Extraordinaire, careful down to the last detail. She would be the best mix of festive and classy a woman of her positive stature could be.

The encounter last night had given her some reservations about who else was going to threaten her, but for her day out the locals seemed cheerfully accommodating. More than one shop-keep was perfectly happy to direct her toward the center of all the fun that was to be. Graciously, Caroline extended her thanks. She was a bit startled when strangers on the street began offering her the colorful beads so widely known, but she demurred and hurried back to her place before evening could close in.

She had to start all over, removing and reapplying her makeup. Everything had to match and blend. And, as always, she was pleased with the outcome. She looked happy and ready to party.

Just for safety's sake, she slipped one of the several vials of vervain Bonnie had given her into her bra.

She took one last look at herself in the mirror, inhaling deeply and blowing out the air in a meager breathing exercise. "You've survived crazy hybrids, whacko Katherine, Silas, and multiple break-ups," she informed her reflection. "Most vampires don't come out of any single one of those alive. You got this."

Encouraged by her own pep talk, Caroline whirled out to brave the city and take in the sights. And oh, how utterly worthwhile it was. Not seconds after she had stepped onto Bourbon Street did the offers for free beads bombard her. She accepted the first three, refusing the fourth when the guy in assless chaps demanded she reveal her breasts first. Rolling her eyes, Caroline pressed past until the found the first bar she wanted to visit. Thankfully, the guy, while rude, didn't pursue her. And no wonder, she realized quickly. There were more than enough women willing to flash for beads, a picture, booze, or even just for the hell of it. New Orleans certainly lived up to expectation.

Caroline managed to snag a beer, tossing a ten at the bartender with her best smile. She walked away before he could give her the change. And that was the plan. Let him remember the blonde with the beautiful smile and willingness to leave a hundred percent tip.

Soon enough Caroline was chatting up a couple of girls who, like her, were visiting. And, like her, they were in town for a temporary stay. Neither had experienced Mardi Gras before, and at the exciting age of 19 decided now was the time.

Part of Caroline was jealous. She'd never truly get to experience what being 19 was really like, even if said birthday had passed a few years ago. Soon enough, she wouldn't be able to experience what anyone past 27 would, or 30, or 45. What would it be like to hit the age people claimed to have a mid-life crisis? Would she have decided to venture down to the Crescent City then? Did vampires still _have_ mid-life crises?

Soon enough the girls were off to their next destination. Caroline was content to stay a little longer. She made a beeline for the bar, hoping to get enough attention to get an order other than, "Beer," in.

Two drinks later, Caroline finally bored of her scenery and decided to hop to another location. As it was, she thought it a fantastic sign that she had remained in one location for close to an hour and no vampires had made any overt moves on her. Still, she went straight for the bathroom at the next bar and checked inside her bra. It made her feel safer knowing she had something, even if it was just to incapacitate long enough for her to zip out of there.

It must have been somewhere between a man flashing his genitalia and getting crammed at the parade that she grew careless.

Caroline had to wrench her way through the crowd. While the parade was admittedly impressive, she had been in enough of them to appreciate the flamboyance for a normal human lifetime. She had finally made a turn off Bourbon Street and onto another when someone bumped her.

"Hey!" Caroline bristled, whirling to catch sight of the offender in the crowd. She was no fool; that had been on purpose.

In fact, the man who had hit her didn't bother running. He stood there, allowing others to bustle past him as he watched her coolly.

"You," she huffed. "You know, for this supposedly being routine, you seem to like spying on me."

But he wasn't rising to the bait. Instead he drifted a few steps closer, uncomfortably crowding her. Caroline tensed, ready to break his nose if he so much as twitched. Okay, she relented, she ought to have brought a stake, too. Tossing vervain in such close proximity wasn't going to be her best bet. How awful was it that she had to contemplate carrying the same deadly weapons that could be easily turned against her?

His dark eyes bore into her, and he said quietly, "You bear a striking resemblance."

"To Amanda Seyfried, yes, I know," she snapped.

He wasn't amused. Instead he frowned, muttered under his breath, and vanished while Caroline blinked. It wasn't what he said that put her nerves on edge, it was the anxiety that broiled with it.

_"__A _striking_ resemblance."_

God, stalkers were just gross. Caroline shuddered and made her way again, determined not to allow the experience to ruin her night.

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><p><em>AN: I just wanted to say thank you to the reviews so far, and remind everyone that I am open to constructive criticism. I promise, I cannot take a red pen to paper enough, and it immensely helps when other people notice things I don't._

_Also, I wanted to say thank you for welcoming me this well into the fandom. I really have been out of the multi-chapter fanfic loop for a good number of years (nearly 10), so the support I do get is immensely appreciated. I hope you're enjoying where the story is going._


	4. Chapter 4: The Déjà Vu

Just in case anybody thinks I suddenly acquired rights, I'll remind them here that I do _not_ own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, Mardi Gras, New Orleans, Deja Vu, or any characters from the previously mentioned shows.

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><p>"Good music, good atmosphere, and <em>impeccable<em> food, my friend." Klaus clapped a hand on Marcellus's shoulder and inhaled the thick scent of victory and home. "Mardi Gras only comes once a year for the past century, so let's enjoy it while it lasts, shall we?"

If his companion recalled the painting, he certainly wasn't bothering to mention it. Marcellus pulled out a flask, raising it in a mock cheer before taking a swig.

"Now, come, Marcel," cajoled Klaus. "Where's your spirit?"

"Unfortunately, not with my wallet," Marcellus said dryly. He leaned over the table as though to better converse. They both knew better. Some human habits just wouldn't die. Which was quite fortunate for those who aimed to blend in with the walking lunch menu.

Klaus smiled broadly. "Compulsion, my friend," he reminded him. Then, to prove his point, he grabbed the nearest human walking by, who happened to be a tiny slip of a redhead. Klaus caught her gaze instantly, and even before his accent could woo her, he had her in his spell. "Sweetheart, be a dear and fetch my friend and I each a shot of whiskey before I rip out your throat," he murmured.

Wide-eyed, the woman nodded and made a beeline for the bar, forgetting about the drinks already in her hands.

Marcellus sighed. "See, just constantly using my powers isn't the same as reeling them in the hard way," he said. "Doesn't feel like a victory well-earned."

Instantly Klaus's mood dove south. He narrowed his eyes at his right-hand man. But Marcellus seemed distracted, staring at something out the front window.

"Hey, man, I'll be right back."

Klaus sat back, still intent on stewing in his anger. "Just where do you think you're going?"

Marcellus tucked the flask away, giving him what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. "I might have seen a new visitor. I'll check it out. Save my drink, if you don't mind."

Shortly after his exit the redhead returned, three double shots of whiskey balanced in her hands. Klaus took a moment to be amused at her efforts. Apparently she enjoyed being threatened. Rather than acknowledge it, he took two glasses from her, knocking back one after the other. Marcellus could keep to his damn flask for all he cared.

Before the dejected girl left, Klaus beckoned her back. "Not so fast" he drawled, cocking his head. "Take your shot."

She brightened visibly. "Cheers!" The woman tilted her head back with the glass. When Klaus grabbed her by the arm, yanked her forward, and sank his teeth deep into her neck, her pathetic human reflexes gave her no time to react. She gasped and attempted to cry out, but a sudden roar exploded throughout the bar, very much like the cheer of a gaggle of sports fans whose team had just made a touchdown. Klaus focused on his meal, draining her dry before he tossed her aside like a rag doll. Already he felt the tickling sensation of energy. How easy it would be to go on a killing spree, drinking the blood of humans as if they were cattle until he experienced that exhilarating high of fresh blood coursing through his deadened veins.

If anybody noticed his antics, they must have assumed it was just some part of the festivities. This disgruntled Klaus even further. What was the point of being brazen if everything you did just fell under the radar?

He stormed out of the building.

Klaus hadn't made it more than a couple blocks and more discrete snacks later before Marcellus caught up with him. His companion seemed a bit put out. "Something wrong, Klaus?"

"Why should there be?" he spat, refusing to look at the former king. No, his _subordinate_. "No matter that I can drain a woman dry in the middle of a crowded building and hardly earn a glance. I should be _ecstatic_ I've earned such passive care."

Falling into step beside him, Klaus could sense Marcellus trying to choose his words carefully. "Anything goes on Mardi Gras," he said. "I thought that was a big part of the point."

It was. Klaus just wanted to remain angry.

Marcellus seemed to read him perfectly. His tone carried some reluctance, but the words he spoke were practically music to Klaus's ears. "I saw our guest out and about just now."

Klaus slowed his pace. He still refused to look at his subordinate—because that's what Marcellus was; always beneath him and never an equal—but he said, "Where?"

Marcellus nodded in his periphery. "She just took a turn off Bourbon. Looked like she was headed toward Déjà Vu."

That gave Klaus cause to raise an eyebrow. A woman going to one of the most common strip clubs was somewhat usual in and of itself. But most of those women were human; unaware of the fact at least eighty percent of the dancers were made up of vampire ilk.

"Let's take a stroll, then, shall we?"

Even from the secluded hallway meant to obstruct the view of the dancers, Déjà Vu was obviously packed. The music made the walls seem to pulse with its volume more than passion, mostly consisting of the blistering pop variety. The thick stench of lotion and perfume filled Klaus's nostrils to the point he nearly turned and walked straight out.

He didn't. Not the King of New Orleans. This was his kingdom, and those who intended to pass through had to prove their allegiance to him. Even if that meant he must put up with such a rank setting. Klaus made a mental note to rip off the newcomer's head if she so much as glanced at him the wrong way. Already this venture was becoming more of an ordeal than an enjoyable night of entertainment, liquor, and dining.

While the Déjà Vu managed to score points with its clientele for its robust security and tossing out unruly guests (most of the dancers could handle themselves, but damn if it didn't look better for them to appear limpid when off the poles), Klaus had ignored the occupancy restrictions and compelled his way in. None of the bodyguards stopped him. Every vampire in the city knew his face now.

He left Marcellus on his own for setting him off earlier.

Inside, it seemed that those who couldn't compel had paid their way. The floor was positively packed with mingling bodies, well over occupancy. Klaus deftly removed a drink from a bartender's tray, bringing what appeared to be a stiff martini to his lips. All the while his eyes scoured.

Had he been a clumsy human, he might have dropped his glass. Instead he stared, confirming that he was not, in fact, having one of his rare dreams. And since Silas had long since been confirmed dead, it couldn't be one of his mind tricks, either.

Caroline Forbes was in New Orleans.

The knowledge brought him equal parts delight and another emotion he was loath to acknowledge. That one made his chest constrict and his thoughts draw a blank as he rapidly sifted for something witty to say, yet found nothing. Without even setting down the drink, Klaus flashed out of the establishment.

He wasn't ready for her to be here.

And _that_ angered him as well. He shouldn't have to plan around such a small contingency. Yet the first thought that blared through his mind was, _She doesn't know about Hope._ He'd conveniently failed to mention his situation when he had last visited Mystic Falls. In part because, by the time he left, a small portion of him had truly believed she would never come looking for him.

And why should she? He had kept his promise. Once he left Mystic Falls, sans gloating over a corpse-to-be, Klaus had not even set foot in Virginia, much less his small birth town. And _she_ had made no effort to get in contact with him. Initially, he'd been thankful, as the last thing he wanted was for her to get caught in the crossfires of his bloody war. But as time passed he stopped allowing himself to think she would ever change her mind. Distance had been what she wanted, and it seemed to have had the effect she'd desired. So he did his best not to think of her.

Which perfectly explained all his failed attempts to capture her incessant radiance on canvas. Of course.

Outside, Klaus stared at the martini glass. He'd almost forgotten he had it. He didn't hesitate to finish it in one swallow, allowing the gin to leave a pleasant burn down his throat. Then, in a fit of rage, he smashed the glass to the ground and zipped down the next couple blocks. The desire to put adequate space between him and the only woman he had ever truly been taken with already gripped his throat with choking need.

There had to be a way he could spin this in a way that still gave him all the control.

He was still brooding over his intriguing new situation when Marcellus caught up with him. His second-in-command wore an expression of deep ire, yet held his tongue. Smart lad.

"You get a look at her?" Marcellus asked.

"Yes," said Klaus curtly.

Marcellus paused, leaning back on his heels as something appeared to occur to him. "So she really is the same girl from the painting."

Klaus glared.

Marcellus raised his hands in surrender. The motion did little to calm Klaus's rapidly fraying nerves. "When I saw it, I just thought she looked familiar. Almost figured it was Cami, but, well…" He shrugged. "So you know her. How do we handle this?"

It certainly had to be handled differently, at least to a degree. Klaus folded his arms over his chest. He began to walk again, choosing a route that took him away from Déjà Vu and Bourbon Street.

Abruptly, he halted and spun. "Where does she live?"

Marcellus didn't hesitate. "Six blocks back the way we came, in the old Bebette apartments."

Despite himself, Klaus couldn't help but smirk. The little vampire _would_ manage to end up in such an aptly named home. "Fancy a tour, then, mate? I'd like to see just how settled she is before we make our next move."

* * *

><p><em>AN: I just wanted to say thank you again, particularly for those who have pointed out my typos. I really appreciate it. Also, it looks like this story is going to be longer than 10 chapters. As of this posting, I'm writing chapter 12. So... yeah. I guess I don't have a cap on this anymore. Let's just hope I don't burn out. (Or that I finish this relatively soon. Deliberately depriving myself of new episodes so I don't corrupt my ideas is a pain.)_

_Cheers._


	5. Chapter 5: Old Habits

I still don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any characters, or any other name-brand thing or event or day that may be mentioned.

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><p>Initially, a strip club had seemed a brilliant idea. It kept within the spirits of people showing off their goods (though, thankfully, no men accosted her here) while satiating her need for a drink and using a crowd to her advantage.<p>

That and nobody was supposed to assume the new vampire would visit one.

In retrospect, Caroline had to admit that would have worked better if her latest stalker had done his research. She'd never before visited one of these establishments. But how was he supposed to know that? It was his job to be creepy, not to study her psyche.

She found, like many other things about New Orleans, the experience was far different than she expected. Yes, the presence of vampires was overwhelming. Aside from that, she was pleasantly surprised to find how well she was treated. Drinks were served promptly considering the packed nature of the establishment, and when she politely turned down the girls who approached her for a dance, most of them smiled and thanked her for visiting. A couple even asked about her first experience with Mardi Gras.

So very obvious it was in part due to their business, but a positive experience nonetheless.

Caroline was sipping a pink concoction from a plastic cup when the man popped into her periphery again. She groaned and rolled her eyes, turning to glare at him. "Don't you have _anything_ better to do?" she demanded.

He shrugged, watching her with a peculiar look. "Plenty. Unfortunately for both of us, this is just the way it is." Almost immediately his face lit up with a toothy grin. "How's your first day in New Orleans?"

"Far too many stalkers," she replied with a sardonic smile of her own.

"Fair enough."

Well, she supposed now was the moment. Caroline set her drink down on the table beside her. "Fine. Why don't we just get this over with. I assume you're here to fetch me?"

Ignoring the bite to her voice, the man glanced around. When he didn't seem to find what he expected, his smile vanished. Caroline could practically hear what his expression give away. _Son of a bitch._ She couldn't hide a small smirk.

Recovering quickly, the man turned back and said calmly, "Not today. Just keeping tabs on you, baby vamp."

Caroline leaned forward with the pretense of being heard over the throbbing music. On stage a raven-haired vampire covered in tattoos began her dance, the fluid movements in juxtaposition of Caroline's pounding heart.

Her voice steady, she said, "I've been at this for nearly a decade. Hardly a baby anymore."

"When you've been at this for a hundred years, we'll renegotiate the nickname, baby vamp."

Now he was trying to crawl under her skin. Caroline huffed and pulled away from him, turning her head. Much to her relief, one of the girls walking around slung an arm over the man's shoulder, giving her a brief reprieve.

"Fancy seeing you here," she heard the girl murmur. "His Highness finally give you a night off?"

She could hear the smile curving the man's words as he replied. "I'm just out on business tonight. Sorry."

"Of course." Caroline felt curious eyes bore into the back of her head, but she just sipped at her drink and watched the dancers on stage. Still, she overheard the stripper say, "Come see us sometime, Marcel. Bourbon Street misses you, you know."

Caroline filed that away in her extensive mental folder for later.

Once they were relatively alone again, the man—Marcel—turned his undivided attention back to her. "I hope you enjoy Mardi Gras," he said cordially. "You should come down to the French Quarter sometime."

She gave him a wary glance. "And I guess I should ask for _Marcel?_" she asked pointedly.

Marcel simply smiled. God, she was starting to hate that too-charming grin. He set down a few dollar bills on the table before standing and taking his leave. No zipping vampire speed, just a casual, faux-human stroll out the front door.

Caroline lingered long enough to finish her drink. Another vampire inquired if she was interested in a dance. She wasn't, but Caroline felt a little bad for distracting from business, and left the woman a tip as an apology.

If the stripper was insulted, she didn't show it. Simply slipped the bill into her G-string and sauntered off.

Caroline decided then to leave as well. She was certain she would run into stalker-Marcel within the hour, but she didn't. Not that she could relax and let loose for the rest of the night. Already she was missing the benefits of her small town. She couldn't stay near Mystic Falls any longer, not with her less-than-aging face, but it certainly was a pain to go from knowing just about everyone to not knowing a single soul. Well, aside from one stalker. Caroline supposed she had to count that as knowing somebody. After all, who just followed new vampires around _without_ either making significant conversation or outright attempting to kill them? Psychopaths, that's who.

In the end, Mardi Gras was far less exciting than Caroline had hoped. It was difficult to get past the dampening spirits Marcel had insisted pouring upon her. She couldn't even find it in herself to drink to a point she could enjoy it. Ugh. Stalkers were such killjoys.

Caroline chose to take the long way home, just in case Marcel had decided to put somebody else on her tail. Ultimately they would know where she lived anyway, but that didn't stop her from wanting to make their night as hellish as possible. _Tit for tat,_ she thought fiercely, as though Marcel could hear her.

Another plus for vampirism: walking for hours in heels no longer hurt.

Her elongated walk allowed Caroline opportunity to do a little of the sight-seeing that she had come here to see. The further she wandered from Bourbon Street, the less festive the roads became, with fewer drunks. It gave her a chance to really look around.

Here and there she could still see signs of ravaging from the terrible hurricane years before. Some buildings were far more dilapidated than their neighbors, with a distinct rugged appearance that came from more than just yearly wear and tear. But by and far, reconstruction seemed to have come some ways since.

The faint glimmers of tragedy gave the city a solemn tone to contrast with the exuberant celebration. Pretty amazing, she had to admit, that so many locals could have gone through that and still found it in themselves to take to the streets and party. Many of them still had to be alive and present.

A nagging part of her wondered how much of the rebuild was due to supernatural forces, though.

Caroline didn't come close to her apartment until the blackness of night began to twinkle with faint violet hues of morning. She cast a guarded look around as she approached her apartment complex, glancing up toward her bedroom window.

_Blue-green eyes stared back, with the crushing intensity of a storm at sea._

"No way," she whispered.

Her shock wore off within a second, and she zipped her way through the front and up the stairs. The door to her place was left open a crack, causing a spike of apprehension in her chest. She threw open the door, looking around.

Unsurprisingly, she found nothing. Nobody. Empty space, with nary a whisper of an exotic accent that sent split parts terror and thrill throughout her body.

Still, she closed the door behind her and put as much authority into her voice as she had ever mustered. "I know you're in here, Klaus!"

Not even a chuckle.

Caroline checked every nook and cranny of her one bedroom abode. Naturally, she found nothing. No sign of him. Her only proof was the knowledge she had seen him from the streets, staring out her window with a blazing expression she couldn't believe she had nearly forgotten. That same look he had given her nearly every time they met, the one filled with promises of ruining her life just by being near her.

"You unbelievable dick," she muttered to herself. And wasn't that just special, that she cursed him with Damon Salvatore's favorite insult. A trip away from Mystic Falls really _had_ been necessary. She had a lot to learn and _un_learn, it seemed.

Caroline went to her dresser, where she had left her phone. No need for it in New Orleans, she had figured, when all of her friends had scattered to the wind.

She typed in a quick message, forwarding it to both Elena and Bonnie.

_Hey! I miss you guys so much; you have no idea. So, confession time: I kind of lied. I'm down in New Orleans, not Tampa, and you won't believe who I just saw. Let's just say this trip is definitely going to be cut short. When are we meeting up again? I miss you ladies something fierce. Still, this trip hasn't been a total waste. There really is something to Cajun cuisine. Maybe we can take a drive through Baton Rouge sometime in the future and try the food. I'm sure it's the same. Anyway. Miss you girls. Xx_

Okay, maybe it wasn't _that_ quick. But it did put her mind at ease, knowing her friends had her precise location now.

Caroline snagged a blood bag from the refrigerator, relieved to find none of that had been tampered with. She took a cautious sip. When no vervain burned, she drank her fill. Why she'd suspected her food would be spiked, she wasn't completely certain. Just that the man who'd invaded her home was, at best, unpredictable.

Appetite whetted, she changed into pajamas and crawled beneath the sheets. Her eyes began to flutter close when she slid her hand beneath her pillow.

Her fingers grazed something foreign.

Caroline stiffened and lifted her pillow. Beneath it was a small box about two inches in length. Willing her hands to still, she opened it. What she found both stunned her and made her want to laugh like a madwoman.

A small pair of earrings stared up at her. They were modest enough, with tiny nubs of what she assumed were real pearls (because why would he settle for less?) glistening in the raw glimmers of sunlight bleeding through her window. A tiny piece of folded paper rested beneath them. She opened it.

_Sorry I could not be the first to welcome you to New Orleans._

No signature.

Caroline sighed and flopped back onto the mattress. "You _unbelievable_ dick," she groaned.

Apparently she was going to the Quarter tomorrow.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Almost there, my friends. I promise. I don't typically post two chapters in one day, but chapters 4 and 5 are so close in timeline that I figured it was best to get it done now._

_Many thanks for the support and occasional constructive criticism. It really makes my day to have my ideas critiqued. Everybody seems to have a different idea on how Klaus in particular should/would behave, and it's fun to see those concepts voiced. Thanks for reading!_


	6. Chapter 6: Blood in the Foyer

I do not own the Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters within. I have, however, taken artistic liberties with Hope Mikaelson.

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><p>Klaus told nobody of his plan. In the end, that was the ultimate point. It had to look as though there was no plan. As King, it was in his best interest for his reign to look easy and flawless.<p>

In fact, he was so looking forward to the day's events that he wasn't more than irritable when he caught sight of his daughter meandering the halls. The child poked her head into different rooms, clearly looking for something.

"Hope," he called. The girl's back stiffened and she turned to him. "Is this part of your punishment? Free reign of the house?" He stalked toward her, waiting expectantly for an answer.

His child tilted her head to look up at him, her tangle of ginger-tinged hair swept to the side in a ponytail. "No, sir," she muttered. Her voice took on the monotone she used whenever repeating what one of her parents had told her. "My punishment is to clean every room until I learn how badly I messed up Daddy's stuff."

Klaus crouched, though not quite to her height. He refused to allow even his own daughter to think he would ever stoop to be her equal. "Somehow, I doubt you've learned anything."

Hope huffed and diverted her eyes. Irate, Klaus grabbed her forcefully—but not painfully—by the chin and turned her head back to him. "You look at me when I speak to you," he ordered. "Or I'll be more than happy to make your entire weekend as miserable as you can imagine."

Hope cringed. In that instant, she wore a rare expression of sincere apology. "I'm sorry I messed with your things, sir," she mumbled. Her hazel eyes met his, lacking the defiance she was so well known for putting on display. "I'll go back to cleaning."

"Good." Klaus released his hold on her, though stole a moment to stroke her hair and share a devilish smile with her. Lowering his voice he said, "Just between you and me, sweetheart, we'll be having company this afternoon."

Hope perked up at that, her eyes glittering. "New vampire, Daddy?"

"Smart girl," he praised. "I suggest you complete your punishment before noon, lest you miss out on your chance to prove how a true princess behaves in this city."

With a giddy giggle, Hope threw her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. A few years ago Klaus might have torn out the throat of any child who'd dare touch him in such a manner.

But his daughter was different.

He hugged her back with one arm, stroking the back of her hair lightly. It was precarious and frightening how his own flesh and blood could make him feel. Some days he wanted to toss her off the nearest balcony and see just how well a fluke hybrid child could bounce. Yet this swelling, constricting feeling in his chest overrode that, the sensation of pure, unadulterated love for his only child. A child he'd assumed he could never conceive for over a thousand years.

Perhaps not with the woman of his choice, but none of that changed that Hope was _his_ daughter. Long after Hayley passed, he would still be her father. And if she grew up to have a fraction of sense, she'd take after her father and conquer her own kingdom.

Then again, perhaps by then Klaus would have expanded upon his own.

Shoving those thoughts aside, he detached from Hope and stood again. "Get going," he said sternly. As she vanished into the nearest room, the sounds of her hurriedly putting away anything that wasn't in place (likely her fault anyhow), Klaus couldn't help but smile faintly.

He wiped it off his face before addressing the woman behind him. "Your punishments lack creativity and finesse, you know."

Hayley scoffed and joined him. "Sorry," she said sarcastically. "Next time I'll just flay her alive."

It would be interesting to see if Hope could heal appropriately from that. From the way Hayley's eyes narrowed, Klaus knew she had practically read his intrigue.

"I swear, Klaus, if you touch her—"

"What is it they call women like you these days," mused Klaus. "I believe the term was 'helicopter mother'?"

"She's just as much you as she is me," Hayley pointed out. "Vigilance is key, particularly at this age."

"And you are certainly the expert I'd turn to first," mocked Klaus.

Exasperated, the mother of his child said, "What exactly are you promising her with this guest, anyway? Because I don't want to clean any more blood off the foyer. It gets old."

Not for their daughter, it didn't. Klaus was more than pleased to find her young thirst for blood was damn near insatiable.

Aloud he said, "Don't worry your furry little head over it. Hope and I missed out on a potential bonding experience last night, thanks to you. I merely intend to make up for it."

And with that he ended the conversation, leaving the mother of his child to roll her eyes and peer in on their daughter.

* * *

><p>Just before noon, Klaus received notice that Marcel had gone to the French Quarter to retrieve their "baby vamp." Just like that, the pieces were in place upon the board. By the end of this venture, whatever the outcome, Klaus expected to come out on top. The King over all his pawns.<p>

He ignored the incessant whisper reminding him that Caroline was always a wild card. Or, more appropriately for the metaphor, she held the rank of a queen, able to move just about every which way, often the primary reason for a resulting checkmate. Should she strategize hard enough, she could easily put him in his place and knock him off the board.

His one consolation was that he highly doubted Caroline was the type to try. Oh, she'd bicker with him, pick fights and push all his buttons until he was overflowing with rage and desire. But she had no reason to attempt to knock him from his throne.

_Which,_ that nasty whisper needled him, _is going to make convincing her to stay all the more difficult, now, isn't it?_

Klaus busied himself in his room as he waited, unwilling to entertain such ridiculous thoughts. After all, as she had said, he had no place in her dreams for the future.

Somehow he still found himself drawn to the canvas, to those beautiful filaments of yellows and speckles of blue. Large, expressive eyes, the same eyes that had widened impossibly upon catching a glimpse of him the night before. He had left seconds before she'd entered, but Klaus had still heard her frustrated exclamations from the roadside. A dick, she'd called him.

He certainly had an affinity for the brash and class.

The stroke of his brush took so much concentration and immersion into his work that Klaus nearly missed his cue. His ears pricked when what his daughter seemed to think were her quiet steps crept past his room and down toward the main foyer. Klaus smirked and set aside his artistic implements. When he followed Hope, he was precisely silent.

He stayed out of sight. It disappointed him to do so; he wanted to have a closer look at the woman who first twisted his perception of himself inside out. That somebody could have him reassess himself and his actions since the man he once called Father was impressive on its own.

But he'd never imagined an infant vampire would manage to ensnare his intrigue and snag pieces of his soul.

Klaus remained just out of sight, his back to the wall and ears pricked. Within moments he heard voices; one he'd known for years, and another he'd missed.

"Welcome to the castle," Marcellus's voice carried up the stairs.

"Impressive," said Caroline dryly. Klaus covered his mouth, his lips curled as he imagined her skeptical blue eyes studying every detail surrounding her. "Except you're lacking a lot of faithful servants. Pretty important to have."

Klaus was almost disappointed in her. What sort of sloppy kingdom did she assume he ran?

Thankfully, Marcellus was more than happy to correct her. "Like all good subjects, they stay out of sight unless they're needed."

Caroline's footsteps halted. The whirl of her hair barely caught his ears, and Klaus allowed himself a private moment of just relaxing and smelling her. Her scent was a little different. Perhaps some of it was a bit of New Orleans clinging to the threads of her clothing, but the familiar whiff of stripper lotion caught his attention as well. He shook his head. The poor girl probably became so used to it in her short tenure at Déjà Vu that she didn't realize that difficult to scrub scent still lingered.

He opened his eyes again at the sound of his daughter's voice.

"Who is this?" Hope demanded from downstairs. She was too young not to overdo the haughty tones. Rather than irate him, Klaus acknowledged the prideful tug in his chest. His little girl was already on her way to taking the helm of her own kingdom one day. He had years yet to polish her rough edges.

Her appearance sounded to disarm Caroline. After a moment's hesitation she began walking again, closer to the girl. "I'm Caroline," she said slowly.

In Klaus's mind's eye, his daughter raised her chin. "Caroline, do you swear allegiance to my father, the King of New Orleans?"

"_Excuse_ you," Caroline snapped. "Like I told your creepy stalker friend here, I'm just visiting. I'm pretty sure that means I don't swear to anyone." Klaus felt his muscles tense as she continued her rant. As amusing as it was, he could also feel the untempered heat roiling from his daughter. "So why don't you go play princess in your room or tell your dad to greet me himself!"

Intuition told Klaus to move then. His instinct was spot-on, and he snatched his daughter within an inch of Caroline, her tiny fangs extended and ready to inject. He stepped back, the writhing child in his hands, before setting her down and forcing her to look at him.

"What did I just ask of you not two hours ago?" he demanded.

Hope's eyes were swollen and dark, veins pulsing around them. She didn't retract her fangs, instead protesting clumsily around them. "She was rude! I've killed others for less!"

Klaus glowered, meeting her insolent gaze with ferocity. "I told you to show our guest how a true princess behaves," he said. "Where in there was permission to rip out her heart?"

"But—"

"If you can't behave to my expectations, what happens?"

Gradually, the dark veins began to smooth over with peachy flesh. "My weekend gets miserable," Hope intoned.

Klaus refused to commend her for listening. She should have done so in the first place. He gave her a firm push toward the stairs. "If you're not in your room when I come for you, you'll find yourself short a few fingers."

Snarling and stamping her feet, Hope whirled and made a show of clomping up the stairs. Moments later a heavy door slammed shut with far more force than necessary. Klaus waited for a few moments, and then the shrieking and smashing of toys reached his ears.

"Sorry about the hellion," Marcellus said flatly, repeating the same words from the night before. This time he meant it.

"She'll be dealt with soon enough." With that Klaus inclined his head, his eyes sweeping up and down the shocked, incredulous woman before him. The sweet mixture of indignant puzzlement in Caroline's wide eyes stirred emotions he had long since attempted to bury. Yet here they were, clawing their way to the surface, reminding him that no matter where he went, she would somehow be there to make him question everything.

Rather than voice any of that, he smiled broadly at her. "So, love, what brings you to my humble abode?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whoohoo, finally a meeting! Many thanks for the faithful reviewers, particularly those who take the time to offer critique and criticisms._


	7. Chapter 7: Alone At Last

I don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or New Orleans/any of its tourist activities.

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><p>Caroline wasn't sure what she was supposed to make of what had just happened. All she knew is that she'd come face-to-face with <em>the<em> most arrogant brat she'd ever come across. And that was saying quite a bit. Elena had been a severe pain around this girl's age, too, but this was just… outstanding. And not in the good way most people used the word.

The worst part was, Caroline had barely thought about the child's haughty words. She'd just lashed back, refusing to take that tone from a _kid_. If ever a child had made her want a free pass to slap her around, it was this one. For sure. No questions asked.

But as impossible as that little girl had been, nothing could have prepared her for the speed she used to come at Caroline. In theory, child vampires would probably exist, but Caroline had never met one. And the more she thought about it, the crueler it seemed. Vampires never aged once turned. To be forever stuck at—how old was the kid anyway, seven? Eight?

Her swirling vortex of thoughts came crashing against a cement wall when _he_ finally deigned to look at her.

Klaus.

The way his lips parted automatically brought to surface all the anger she'd ever held for him. He was so unbelievably smug. Caroline had no doubt he had set all of this up, waiting until _just_ the right moment to come to her rescue. Rescue she hadn't needed. From the child's sloppy movements, Caroline could easily hazard a guess that she had literally more than the girl's lifetime of experience on her.

"So, love," Klaus practically purred. _Oh, my god, I could just rip his face off now and his arrogant ass would _have_ to wait to heal before he came after me,_ thought Caroline savagely. "What brings you to my humble abode?"

Caroline jabbed a finger at Marcel. "Your _flunky_ brought me here, you sizable ass!"

An ironclad grip latched onto her bicep. Caroline spun to fling him off, but Marcel just looked annoyed. Seriously, why did these ancient jerks keep expecting her to take abuse lying down? Baring her fangs at him, she met his dark eyes just as the veins around them began to puff up.

"At ease, Marcellus," drawled Klaus behind them. Marcel continued to glower at her, his eyes glittering with steely warning. But he reluctantly released her, and Caroline immediately put some space between them—as well as her and Klaus. She folded her arms over her chest. No way was she going to play his stupid games.

The way Klaus looked at her then, his eyes warring with hungers beyond what she would allow herself to imagine. Still Caroline just set her jaw and waited.

"I'd like some time alone with my old acquaintance," Klaus said to Marcel, never releasing her from his gaze.

Somehow, his label pierced a part of her chest that Caroline struggled to acknowledge. She made a show of looking around to hide her thoughts.

The moment they were alone, Caroline felt an overwhelming need to lash out.

"I didn't realize you were running an orphanage now," she said. "Never thought you had it in you."

One of Klaus's eyebrows arched. He sighed. "Oh, how I loath to correct you when you're so close to a positive assessment of my character," he murmured.

"I can't think of a better explanation," she replied. But even as she said it her heart clenched. The girl's words echoed between her ears.

Klaus wisely kept his distance. Slowly he leveled their eye contact, seeming to look for something in her expression that he couldn't quite find.

After a long pause he stated, "You just met Hope, my daughter."

Caroline couldn't help herself. She let out a short, derisive laugh. When she realized the darkening of his eyes meant he wasn't joking, her smile began to fade. "Wait—that's impossible," she objected. The more she thought about it, the less likely it seemed. And yet, the more she pictured the girl, the stronger her resemblance to Klaus became.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she protested, "Okay, how is that even a _thing?_ What, could you just have kids this whole time? This is some other stupid Original Hybrid loophole?"

He wasn't amused. "Something akin to that, actually."

Well, that just freaking figured. She threw her hands up, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. "Well, that's great. Perfect. Congratulations. I'm sure she'll have a _totally_ healthy upbringing."

At her snippiness, Klaus advanced. His voice carried the undercurrent of a threat, sharp as a honed blade. "I'm sorry if you're jealous, love, but I'd consider it a personal favor if you keep your thoughts of my child to yourself."

If any doubts stained her mind, they washed away in a flood of bleach. There was no mistaking the emphasis when he spoke of _his_ child, the possessiveness that was both typical and alien of him. Caroline opened her mouth, reconsidered, then closed it again.

_Well… screw me,_ she thought numbly. _Klaus had a kid._

Not that she cared. She wasn't jealous over it whatsoever. It didn't matter that the cosmos had decided to unfairly stack so much luck in this so-called King's corner, granting him a free pass to unleashing the original hybrid _and_ possessing the ability to procreate.

Her voice muted, she said, "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not jealous. Just surprised."

"Of course," he said evenly.

"So was this just _not_ a thing until you killed my friend's aunt?"

Some small tension bled out of his shoulders. "That's how it was explained to me." At her questioning look, his mouth pulled into a tight line. "Long story, love." Then that arrogant smile made its reappearance. "Though I'd be more than happy to regale you over, say, dinner and drinks."

"I'll pass, thanks," she said scornfully.

One thing hadn't changed: his annoying persistence. "How about a walk then?" He offered his hand, deviously playful light flickering to life in his eyes again. "Marcel tells me you look to be here a while. I'd be more than delighted to show you around my city and make the most of your time."

Caroline's hackles rose at his presumption. She tossed her hair, glaring daggers at his offending hand. "You mean the creepy sick stalker you had break into my room?"

"Nothing personal," he said with a shrug. "Standard protocol. Once you have your kingdom, you do whatever necessary to keep everyone in line. Besides, had you warned me of your visit, I would have come to greet you personally."

Like hell she was going to play that game. Caroline at last unfolded her arms, stalking toward the door. "Well, your so-called _protocols_ are completely _un_necessary. I already told you once that you had no place in my future plans. So you can quit having me followed."

A bitter edge cut through his voice. "Your determination to avoid me brought you to the very city I last told you I was in?"

She flushed, happy her back was to him so he couldn't see. She recalled his message. For months she had kept it, replaying it on nights she grew restless and curious about the world outside of her hometown. Even after she'd shredded his drawing of her, that message had remained on her phone for a long, long time. After a few years she'd stopped thinking about it so much, thinking that, like most unaging creatures, he'd moved on. She should have known better.

But she sure as hell wasn't going to tell him _any_ of that

"Like I pay attention to what you do," she threw over her shoulder.

"Is that why you're wearing the earrings I left you?"

Caroline froze.

Damn it, what had she been _thinking?_ Yes, they were cute, and yes, in great taste. But she'd gone through this before. Holding on to his stupid gifts as keepsakes of… _whatever_ at the time. Resisting the urge to beat her head against the massive slabs they called front doors, Caroline kept her fingers firmly wrapped about the knob. She turned halfway. "Don't make this personal," she tossed back at him. The way his eyes flickered as she used his own mocking words against him gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. "It happened to look good with what I decided to wear is all."

Klaus dared to take a few steps in her direction. "Do you think I was not aware of their versatility in your wardrobe?" he inquired.

God. _Damn._ It.

"Well, good for you," she said. Childish, she knew, but she was _so_ ready to be done with this conversation. "Sorry for intruding on your precious kingdom. I'll leave in the morning."

She opened the door, but in a flash he was blocking her exit. Rolling her eyes, she hurried past him. He just sped past her, blocking her way again.

"Oh, my god, can you just _move?_" she groaned.

Klaus's expression was strangely unreadable. He closed the space between them, his eyes penetrating hers with inexplicable ease. Caroline forced her heels into the ground, refusing to give way—even if she _had_ just been attempting to run.

"Marcel told me you didn't get a chance to enjoy Mardi Gras," he said, searching her face. "Allow me to make it up to you. I imagine you haven't had a chance to see any of the great sights. The St. Louis Cathedral is a spectacle in and of itself. Or the cemetery of the same name." She snorted at that, and he shared a knowing smirk with her. "Honestly, let's not pretend we can't celebrate being undead just a little." When she hesitated to response, he pressed further. "We have The Presbytere, Our Lady of Guadalupe—you'd be amazed at the number of impressive architecture, particularly the churches."

He was doing that thing again, she realized. That horrid, awful thing where he kept talking, making the idea of visiting the simplest place sound like an adventure into the most secretive, wondrous things she could possibly imagine.

And… wasn't that why she was here? Visiting the city to see all the impressive things she had heard him talk about?

She rolled her eyes toward the heavens, heaving a sigh. "Okay—fine," she blurted. "Just… pick something worthwhile. And I'm still leaving not too long from now," she added, pointing a finger at him. "Don't think for a second I'm staying and swearing this silly fealty to you or your bratty kid."

The words were out of her mouth before she recalled his warning to watch what she said about his daughter. To her surprise he smirked, almost as though he acknowledged the girl was a complete pain.

To her relief, he stepped aside and allowed her to pass. Caroline had taken barely three steps before he called out to her. "How do I know you'll be here tomorrow?"

She paused. It wasn't an unwarranted question. Once she got back to her apartment, she could regret this decision and decide to leave in the dead of the night.

As though reading her thoughts, he added, "I'd rather not have to send any of my _flunkie__s_ after you just to keep a date."

"It's not a date," she said. Then, blowing out a breath, she added, "I said I'd let you take me somewhere. So I'll stick around until then."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've attempted to deceive me," he reminded her darkly.

Geez, did he _ever_ let go of anything? "Ugh," she grumbled, once again forcing herself to look at him. "You know, between the two of us, I'm really the more trustworthy one, here."

He didn't care for that answer. "I kept my promise," he said coldly. "Never returned to Mystic Falls. Left without even the slightest satisfaction of watching that miserable doppelgänger's light fade from her eyes." _For you,_ were the unspoken words.

"About that—" Caroline stopped herself, shaking her head. Perhaps it would be somewhat interesting to catch up. He might be delighted to hear about what ended up happening to Katherine Pierce in the end.

Impulsively, she decided. "If I don't show up here by two tomorrow, I'll let you take back that promise to leave me alone."

Wait, _what?_

Before she could spin it into a joke, Klaus's grin broadened. "I'll hold you to that, love," he promised.

And then he vanished back into his mansion. Caroline protested to the dead air briefly before giving up. She pressed her hands to her forehead, staring at his stupidly huge compound in disbelief.

Klaus had a daughter—an impetuous, rude little witch of a daughter. He really was King of New Orleans; or, at least, something similar to it. All the pieces had added up perfectly, even before she'd bothered to face the very real possibility. The creepy dark-eyed stalker had, of course, ended up being someone who seemed to have a weird, tenuous connection with him, if she was to believe the gut feeling their interactive vibes had given her. And of course she believed it. Rarely did her instinct guide her wrong.

Well, except just now. When she'd allowed him to renege on his promise if she didn't show up for their… oh, god, it really was going to be a date, wasn't it? No. No, she'd clarified that part. Even Klaus wouldn't be so stupid as to presume anything other than what she decided. He knew better.

Right?

Bewildered at her own behavior, Caroline left. This was all so much to take in at once, her head was pounding, and she needed a good, stiff drink.

It wasn't until she poured her second glass later in the evening that she realized she'd never asked one other important question.

Who was Hope's mother, anyway?

* * *

><p><em>AN: So I'm going to snag this point here to talk about this version of Hope and the gist of what to expect._

_Starting next chapter, this is going to get a bit darker. And as much as I love the Original family, I am a firm believer of something both shows have made adamantly clear: that children are a product of their parents. I believe a parent can want the best for their child, but still screw up terribly because their own histories are so littered with pain. Those who make it through dark childhoods and end up better people are, sadly, rare in that most of them have the best intentions and only some can actually improve. Klaus, I think, would be better than his father-but does that mean he would be a GOOD parent? Likewise, Hayley would love her child to death, but does love inherently make a good mother? I found Klaus's desire to protect his daughter something admirable of him in the show, and a sign of something new. But he also has a thousand years of habits to break. At the very least, the road would be bumpy.  
><em>

_These are questions I will be both asking and addressing throughout the story. Please remember that I have many chapters completed ahead of time. The interpretation is already en route and there will be no changes._

_After this chapter, the story's rating will change to M._

_Thanks for reading._


	8. Chapter 8: Sins of the Father

I don't own the Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any of the characters.

**WARNING:** This chapter contains what can be considered nothing other than child abuse. If this is a trigger for you, I suggest you skip this chapter. No blood is drawn, but what happens is not acceptable and not condonable in any fashion.

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><p>For the rest of the day, Klaus's mood was unfathomably foul.<p>

Hayley, of course, had gone running once Hope's violent tantrum had begun. How the girl's mother managed to calm her where Klaus couldn't, he'd never understand. Yes, Hayley had her qualities, and he had only so much room to complain.

Or so he occasionally allowed himself to believe. It wasn't long after Caroline left that he caught his daughter deliberately in his room, smearing paint on his most recent canvas with her bare hands.

"_What did I just tell you?_" he shouted when he opened the door. Red invaded his vision, the same bloody red as his daughter had so aggravatingly chosen for his canvas.

Hope didn't even try defending herself. She glared at her dad accusingly, her gaze blistering with heat she only could have learned from him.

"I don't like that woman," she screamed. "Why do you keep painting her? Why can't you paint better women like _Mommy?_"

This time he gave her no chance to escape. With his first step, Hope attempted to flee, but he had literally a thousand years of experience on her. He darted forward and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her into the hall and toward the other nearest bathroom. Like hell he was going to let her destroy anything more of his.

His daughters shrieks brought Hayley just as Klaus threw the child into one of the spare showers. Hayley attempted to shove past him, yelling, "Are you _insane?_ Don't throw her around!"

"Stay out of this," Klaus ordered furiously. "She's a bloody hybrid. She's not even bruised!"

"_Fantastic_ parenting, asshole!" Hayley shot back just as loudly. "I told you if you ever touched her—"

"The day I draw blood is the day you can tell me how to parent _my_ child."

Hayley's eyes blazed at that. Before she could retaliate, Klaus used his speed to his advantage, shoving his daughter back into the shower as she tried to slip by and holding her there by the back of her neck. He turned on the spout.

Hope yelped when frigid water hit her, then again a few moments later when the spray turned scalding. "_Mommy!_"

Klaus hardly felt Hayley's furious attempts to push him out of the way, even ignoring her when she started punching him. The pain just didn't register. After a few minutes he yanked Hope out, ignoring the searing pain on his own arm. His burns healed quickly, just as Hope's did, but her tears didn't stop. Disgusted, he allowed her to run into her mother's arms.

Hayley scooped her up as though she was still a toddler, snarling at Klaus. "Is that your solution? Act just one notch better than your father to your only child?"

He had to leave before he did something he truly regretted. Klaus shoved past them both. "Teach her to respect my property before I do worse," was all he could say in response to her low blow.

Still, that infernal wolf got in the last word. "If you ever hurt her again, Klaus, I'll kill you myself before you ever get a chance to see her!"

He refused to zip down the halls. That would imply he was running. Instead he forced himself to stalk his way back to his room, where one glance at his massacred work almost sent him into a fury again. It wasn't _just_ that his daughter did precisely the same thing he had already punished her for. It wasn't _just_ that she kept openly denying him the respect she owed him, not just as her father, but as the bloody King of New Orleans.

It was that she had dared to declare her version of war upon Caroline.

Once again, he had to clean up after his daughter. He wanted to count himself lucky that the flooring had yet to be replaced since her last attempt of ruination upon his property, but Klaus was far too angry to see a bright side.

He only knew that, despite what she'd done, some part of him still loved her. He'd christened her Hope for a reason. Almost as though her birth and name had paved the way, his determination to make New Orleans her habitable home had allowed him to conquer this city. Never had he felt quite as victorious as the day he had welcomed his daughter back, walking around the mansion and showing her three year-old eyes what all was to be hers until she grew up.

After nine years, Klaus still had trouble accepting that his love for her was some deep-set instinct older than even his family history.

Once his hackles began to calm, something else hit him that he had come to hate: regret and fury for what he had just done to his child. Seething, Klaus once again smashed the ruined canvas of his hard work. He welcomed the pain a few splinters gave him.

How the hell was he supposed to manage _this?_ Klaus always got what he wanted, in the end. He had his kingdom, his daughter, a decent mother to his child, one brother and his only sister still in his life, even if they weren't always nearby.

He had told Caroline he'd be her last love. Just because he'd believed her to have truly given up on and forgotten about him didn't mean his words weren't just as serious now as they'd been back then.

Ten years and there was still only one person who managed to intrigue him and spark his desires. Klaus had his family. Not precisely the way he wanted, but so close and with so many near misses with death that he was unwilling to test his luck for the time being.

All he was missing was his queen.

His blood ran hot through his veins as he snatched up a large pad of thick paper and propped it upon the easel. Klaus brought out a set of charcoal and began to sketch, his strokes quick and furious. His lines grew sharper as he went. All the while his arm remained two steps ahead of the image that took form in his head.

Once the sketch was done he brought out the wax pencils and added harsh scribbles of color. Brilliant, sanguine red, harsh orange, and a grotesque blend of sharp green and gold.

Klaus was so lost in his fury that his form of venting carried him through the night and into the slivers of dawn. It was well into morning by the time he felt somewhat satisfied with his results. Truthfully, an artist was never completely happy with his work. All the greats understood there was always room to improve, even after their hard work was made available to the public.

He didn't want his work public, at least not with his name attached. Not yet. There was time yet to cultivate his skills even further. Except, unlike the greats, he didn't intend to die before he reaped the benefits of his rewards.

Until then, he kept his art at home. And with this piece, he needed to step back and put it out of his mind before coming back to it. Certainly he'd garner plenty of anger later on to continue.

Klaus opted for a quick shower. Once he stepped into the scalding spray—just as hot as what he'd soaked Hope with—a sense of numb satisfaction blanketed him.

Soon he would make it up to her. Hayley's accusation still echoed in his head, but Klaus was determined to prove her wrong. Unlike Mikael, Klaus was _not_ above offering a form of apology to his offspring.

Not anymore.

His skin blazed when he stepped out of the shower. Before long, his inhuman ability to recover eased his raw, pink flesh into its usual smoothness. He grimaced upon peeling the charms of his two necklaces off his chest. For a few moments the sign of the cross glared up at him, dotted with blood. Then, those too healed.

His self-inflicted punishment was over. Turning his mind to other matters, Klaus got dressed. After all, he had a date, and should she be late he intended to hold Caroline to her word.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Please keep in mind these are fictional characters, this is a work of fiction, and I do not approve of Klaus's behavior; I simply write what I feel is logical for the characters. If there are any objections, please feel free to express them either in reviews or PM. I have no qualms discussing my reasons behind what I write in PM. I have plenty to say on the subject, especially as it pertains to the TVD/TO worlds, but this is not the forum for me to set up my soap box. I just wanted to reiterate that this is a work of fiction, and one that takes probably a darker path than the series would, especially pertaining to children. That said, as a work of fiction, I hope this chapter added to the story._

_As an additional side note, while I am always fascinated by others' opinions, I feel I need to make something clear: I enjoy Hayley as a character. Truthfully, there are few TVD characters I dislike. (Characters included yet not limited to on my "like" list: Elena, Stefan, Bonnie [depending on her story arc], April, Meredith, and Silas.) But Hayley, like pretty much any other character, is flawed, hurt, disturbed, and kind in her own way. I intend to portray her as close to the show as my interpretations can, including her love for Hope. I am by no means a Klayley fan, but I do still find their "relationship" interesting.  
><em>

_That's all. Thanks for reading!_


	9. Chapter 9: The Ebb & Flow of Standards

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any characters, or any fraction of Louisiana, including New Orleans.

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><p>Caroline adamantly refused to be late. Even fashionably late was not an option. The frustrating thing was, she hadn't asked for clarification on what they were doing, so now she had no damn clue what to wear.<p>

She stood in the middle of her walk-in closet, rifling through the meager clothes she'd brought with her. Plenty of articles for partying, and plenty of casual (for her), but nothing for a date that could go anywhere from horrible to classy.

Stupid Klaus always threw her for a loop.

After some griping and repeatedly reminding herself that it didn't matter how this date went, she was only here _on vacation_, Caroline managed to settle on a dark pair of skinny jeans, heels, and a breezy top. If anything, he'd just have to accommodate her dress. Besides, if he'd _really_ cared, he would have ensured to get her phone number yesterday.

It then dawned on her that she'd changed her number three years ago. For all she knew, he still had her old number and had tried to get a hold of her already.

Caroline shook those thoughts from her head. No use dwelling on them. She just needed to get through today and prepare to leave the city shortly thereafter.

She wasn't staying.

Not even if Klaus begged her.

Even if that _was_ a cruelly pleasant image.

She'd said two o'clock, so Caroline ensured she was out the door by noon. Just for the hell of it she took her car. The walk wasn't atrocious, but she had no desire to "accidentally" run into any other stalkery Klaus cohorts.

Part of her was reluctant to knock. This was poorly planned, she realized. She could run into anybody here.

What if she met Hope's mother? How was she supposed to feel about that?

_You don't,_ she told herself firmly. _You just put on your special brand of Caroline Big Girl Leggings, go out with a sociopath just once, and then find another city to explore._

Caroline knocked firmly.

When Klaus opened the door, she couldn't decide whether to feel relief or annoyance. It was like he was just creeping nearby, waiting for her to show up. "You're quite early," he said with more cheer than she expected.

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said. Though he stood aside, as though inviting her in, she just put all her weight on one hip and looked around. Hopefully she looked bored.

"On the contrary, love," he replied. Taking the hint, he stepped outside with her, crowding her space more than necessary just to shut the door behind him. "Now I have two extra hours in which to win you over."

Caroline scoffed. Something about him was different, she noticed. There was a film covering his eyes that she didn't recognize—not on him, at least. And it couldn't be anything she was possibly thinking. No, he'd have to have actual _feelings_ for that.

_Yeah, he has none whatsoever. He's only proven he'd choose you over any other option in the past,_ part of her thought snidely.

Unexpectedly, Caroline felt flushed. For just a moment she remembered the rough bark against her back as he'd torn her shirt off, how searing his lips had been when he'd taken her so roughly in the forest, pleasuring her with such skill and intensity that she hadn't returned home until well after dark….

She spun on her heel, wishing New Orleans had more of the cool breezes Virginia had. "Let's just get this over with," she called over her shoulder.

Klaus kept up with her. From the corner of her eye, she realized he was smirking, almost as though he'd known precisely what she'd remembered. Impossible, she assured herself.

Unfortunately, he seemed more than adept at infecting others with his paranoid tendencies.

Not long into their walk, Caroline conceded that she had no idea where they were going. She made a show of stopping on the sidewalk to check her phone. Elena had gotten back to her the night before, wishing her luck and reminding her to call if she needed any assistance. Caroline still wasn't sure what to say to it, so she just let it go for now.

Klaus patiently waited until she put her phone back in her purse and then took her in a different direction. New Orleans looked so different today, she realized. The entire city seemed to transform between Mardi Gras and the starkly mellow aftermath. The streets were still flocked with bodies, but there was plenty of room to walk without squeezing between people every six inches. Main roads had opened for cars again. Nobody bothered to holler at her or expose themselves.

Utter insanity, she thought. Just like Klaus. No wonder he loved this place so much.

Though the city bustled around them, Caroline found herself growing increasingly agitated by the silence between them. She meant to break the silence by asking about where they were going, but what came out was, "So how old is she now?"

If he was surprised, Klaus masked it majestically. "Nine," he replied. After a few moments, Caroline realized what seemed so off with him. The rest of his words had, thus far, come out with his usual snark. But once she'd brought up his daughter, his voice dropped just a fraction of an octave, the line of his mouth becoming just a tad straighter.

More than that, the age actually made Caroline do some hard math. If Hope was nine, either on the early or late end of the spectrum, that placed her conception _awfully_ close to Klaus's final tryst to Mystic Falls.

Her voice frosted over when she asked, "Did you know when you saw me last?"

Klaus shot her an infuriatingly cocky glance. "For a woman who claims not to be jealous, you're digging that particular hole very deep," he remarked.

Caroline halted, narrowing her eyes. "You did."

"It was none of your concern," he replied coolly. Then, apparently guessing her contemplation to run, Klaus grabbed her by the arm and continued walking.

She tried to jerk her hand back, but he countered with his own strength so it hardly looked like she'd struggled at all. Indignant, she said, "How was it none of my concern?"

"For starters, you told me, and I quote—" Klaus took on an American accent. " 'I have plans and a future and things that I want, and none of those things involve you.' You, in this context, being me," he added, using his normal voice again.

Despite herself, a smile threatened to steal across Caroline's lips. Instead she scowled. "Maybe I just don't have a taste for sloppy seconds."

He whirled so quickly she nearly walked straight into him. Blue-green eyes met hers, so dark that she could only imagine that was what color the ocean would be if its waters ever came to a boiling point.

"Now before you start creating falsities about my intentions, let me make one thing perfectly clear," he growled. In his fury they were so close that Caroline felt his breath wash over her face. Warm, heady, and a sweetly painful reminder of their one passionate evening all over again ten years ago. "Though my daughter was unplanned, you cannot pretend to hold yourself to a higher standard when we both know it is untrue."

Caroline pressed her lips together. She wanted to argue with him, and yet… he had a point. Not one she liked, but one that was objectively fair.

So as much as she hated to do it, she lowered her eyes and said nothing.

His grip on her tightened a bit before Klaus finally relaxed. He began walking again. Caroline didn't fight him.

Coming here had been a mistake, she acknowledged. The terms they had left on had been perfectly fine. He'd kept his promise, even apparently built a whole new life for himself where he was powerful, successful, and probably overflowing rivers of blood down the streets at his content. Deep down, as much as she tried to deny it, a part of her had assumed she would run into him eventually.

By the time they reached a hole-in-the-wall restaurant, Caroline's spirits were down. Klaus's, unfairly, seemed perfectly robust.

Dully, she said, "It doesn't even have a sign."

"That's half the charm, love," he replied before turning to the hostess. "You'll seat us and have our server bring us a bottle of your spiciest sauvignon immediately, won't you?"

Caroline rolled her eyes, biting her tongue until they reached the table. Klaus pulled out a chair for her, but she rolled her eyes and slid past him. Seating herself, she finally said, "Show-off. Half the tables are empty."

Klaus smirked, following her example. "On the contrary. Reservations are meant to be made a month in advance." At her pointed look, he raised both eyebrows. "If you truly want to travel the world and experience all things beautiful, then stick to your true nature. So the occasional compulsion gets us priority. That's some of the beauty of what we are, love." He tsked softly. "Shame you insist on missing out."

"Maybe I just like getting by on my own merit," she posited. At that he paused, his mocking smile fading. "What?"

"Marcel said something similar," he muttered.

Though Caroline didn't want to be lumped in with his stalker friend, she couldn't help herself. "Maybe _Marcel_ has a better idea on how to be a vampire than you do."

Mild disappointment seeped into her when that just brought back his arrogant smile. "I refuse to agree on that one. If Marcel had _any_ idea what it was to be a vampire, he wouldn't have lost his title of king to me."

This time Caroline's eyebrows shot up. Marcel had originally ruled the streets of New Orleans, and he was working _under_ Klaus now? "You compelled him," she said.

"Didn't have to," he replied cheerfully. "Marcellus is no fool. He is a man who knows when he has been bested."

Somehow, Caroline knew there was more to the story than that. But their server showed up with the wine and two glasses, so she dropped the subject to take a sip while Klaus ordered for them. Why fight it, she figured. She'd agreed to let him show her what there was, so let him try his best. It wasn't like he could win her over. Not before, and certainly not now that he was a father (frightening as that was) with a plate full of bratty obligations.

Besides, the wine was wonderful. Caroline was no connoisseur, but she definitely tasted the hints of blackberry and various spices.

"Now then," he murmured, attention fully on her once more. "Last we left off you had broken up with Tyler and finally given in to hot hybrid sex with me." She glared at him, which only turned his smile impossibly smugger. "I am most interested in what you've been up to since then."

"Not much to say," she muttered, shifting her eyes. "All boring small town stuff."

His eyes became patronizing. "Mystic Falls has been anything but boring, if history proves anything," he reminded her. Klaus tipped his glass to his lips, eyeing her expectantly.

Something lit in Caroline just then. A crystal clear picture of Hope flashed through her mind, with her features so achingly similar to Klaus that it hurt to even compare the two.

Determinedly, she set down her glass and flashed him her best Miss Mystic Falls smile. "All right then. Where to start… oh! Yes, that's right. I slept with Stefan."

* * *

><p><em>AN: All right, so... potentially some bad news. The updates are going to start slowing down a bit. Hopefully not more than every 3 days, but we'll see. Thing is, back when I wrote fanfic regularly, I made sure to put out at least one Christmas/holiday fic per season. And I have an idea cooking in my head for that (so far it is more Klaroline). I want to ensure that is finished on time (ie, before Christmas), so my writing time is now going to be split between 3-4 different projects. (**That being said,** if anybody can get me in contact with someone who would like making a Klaroline Christmas-fic cover for me, consider me grateful and indebted. My skills are mediocre at best and mostly restricted to Microsoft Word.)  
><em>

_Also, I've noticed I'm getting a lot of questions. Please don't think I'm ignoring them, but I don't want to answer anything that will be given away later. I'm a spoiler-free control freak in every possible way. I'm also noting every criticism but, as said before, while I find them (well, primarily the various takes on characters) interesting, this story has been actively plotted/written out several chapters ahead of time. Including the ending. That means I don't take requests on plot-lines or ideas—sorry.  
><em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	10. Chapter 10: Ruins & Revelations

I don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters named within. If there is a restaurant in Louisiana of the same name I used, it's pure coincidence. I just pulled the name out of this muddled brain of mine.

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><p>Her admission was deliberately crafted to hurt him, Klaus realized. For an instant he just stared at her as heat bubbled within him, attempting to force its way out of his throat. Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. Soon enough, he couldn't hold it in any longer.<p>

Klaus bowed his head and began to snicker.

Quietly, of course. He felt his shoulders tremble with the force of his amusement. Across the table, Caroline's disbelieving stare bore into him. Unfortunately, that only set him off and he began to chuckle aloud.

Offense thickened her voice. "How is this funny?" she demanded.

"It's not," he lied, unable to hide the laughter from his voice. Klaus unsuccessfully covered his mouth with his clasped hands, watching her with unabashed mirth and desire. And, yes, anger as well. That she thought to exploit his fury ignited the very ire she'd aimed to set off.

He still couldn't help mocking her attempts.

"My apologies," he said insincerely. His mouth still curved as he observed her mute outrage. "But really, love, you can't appreciate the hypocrisy? Not fifteen minutes ago you were berating _me_ for giving, as you called it, 'sloppy seconds.' Now," he added, raising his voice a level when she opened her mouth to retort. "Don't get me wrong. I think you and Stefan could have made quite a pair were it not for the entire… doppelgänger fiasco. Speaking of sloppy seconds, how was that last you left off? Which Salvatore did Elena finally choose?"

Caroline's glare was venom, and it only spiked his hunger for her. "Forget it."

It occurred to him that it could be worthwhile just to take her there and then upon the table.

Still grinning, Klaus leaned back in his chair and decided to just observe her. Stefan Salvatore, he mused. As he'd told her, such a commitment wouldn't have been so awful… if it had stood a chance in this hell he and his family had wrought upon the earth. Between the never-ending drama of doppelgängers and Stefan's unfortunate sickness of hanging on to a humanity that no longer pertained to him, Klaus doubted the man could carry on any realm of healthy relationship.

Which was just unfortunate for Caroline. Back when she had been with Tyler, Klaus hated the stupid wolf pup with a passion. Bad enough that his first hybrid had spat in Klaus's face over his most generous gift, but watching him destroy Caroline's heart from afar, while hilarious in its own way, had been the first time Klaus could admit what happened to the girl was desperately wretched.

Not to mention unnecessary and, if he were to be strictly honest, somewhat his fault.

Somewhat. Tyler was more than responsible for his own scornful actions. Even Klaus had not been foolish enough to prioritize a revenge fantasy over her affections, in the end.

By the time Caroline's frown melted from annoyed to quietly thoughtful their first two dishes arrived. Klaus paused to spread the napkin over his lap. Almost as though she were daring him to challenge her, Caroline picked up her fork and stole the first piece.

And there it was, he thought with pleasure. The slight widening of her eyes, her manner in savoring the taste of her first bite, and even more so her second once she knew what she was in for.

How nice it was to live vicariously through her. Caroline's reactions made him recall the first time he had found this hole in the wall back in the 1800s.

"This is amazing," she admitted.

Klaus did his best to hide his impatience. "Of course. It's Creole, some of the finest cuisine Louisiana has to offer."

"Mm," she mumbled, taking a moment to swallow. "I mean, I ate at this place called Mama's Den yesterday, and it was good, but this is just… I'm almost impressed with you."

He snorted at her reluctant compliment. "You now know the difference between Cajun and Creole. These are dishes only the elite dined upon when I last ran this city."

"Okay, how did you find this place?" she finally asked between bites. Her fork aimed for the last bit of crab cake, but Klaus beat her to it. Her responding eye roll was all too enjoyable.

"Élodie runs the kitchen," he answered cryptically.

The business with his daughter must have ruffled her feathers beyond repair. Caroline's eyes narrowed at the name, but her voice remained civil. "Another flunky of yours?"

Klaus shrugged. Fun as it was pushing her buttons, he didn't want to get into his witch connections. "Aside from what I assume was a brief romp with the better Salvatore, I seem to recall you had more to say on the subject of Katerina's death." Fingers stiffening before he touched his glass again, he asked darkly, "She did die?"

Caroline sighed. "You know, maybe I should've let you have your gloating."

"Nonsense, love. The choice was easy, even before I dreamed of tearing your clothes off."

Pink tinged her ears. "Not _that_," she said. "I mean that even on her deathbed, Katherine was a two-faced, lying, evil little bitch. Seriously, who uses their own daughter—who she _never looked for_, remember—just to switch bodies to bang a guy? Katherine, obviously, but you know what I mean!"

Klaus felt his voice pull taut. "She _is_ dead, then?"

"_Ugh._ Yes. It just took a while longer." Caroline seized on that storyline, apparently happy to talk about someone they could mutually agree to despise. As she regaled him their server continued to bring food and refill wine at odd intervals. Slowly the server began giving Caroline unsettled looks over the extensive course of their meal.

She hardly seemed to notice. When she spoke of Katherine's betrayal—yet again; Klaus could have told them not to leave the doppelgängers alone, but alas, the young ones were always so terribly naïve—Caroline became more animated than he'd seen her in the past few days.

By the end of lunch, she exhaled and sat back. "Bonnie says she went to hell," she finished simply.

Klaus lifted his glass in a toast. "A fitting end for my favorite Petrova," he murmured.

Caroline didn't toast with him, nor did she seem put off by his declaration. Instead she tilted her head.

"Would you use Hope like she used Nadia?"

The implication struck a chord he had been trying to ignore the pluckings of throughout her tale. Klaus had fleeting thoughts of it as well, yet quashed them the moment Hope's raw, red flesh glared at him from the too-recent annals of his memory.

Leaning over the table, Klaus lowered his voice so even Caroline, with her sharp hearing, had to move closer. "When I first learned of my daughter's conception, I wanted nothing more than to rid myself of the burden. My idealistic fool of a brother convinced me otherwise."

It wasn't a direct answer, but Caroline was intrigued. "What changed?"

"I decided I wanted an heir." He broke eye contact, hating the chill that sluiced him as he did. "I ended up with a daughter."

Caroline toyed with the edge of her unused napkin.

"So," she said. "Where to next?"

He refused to say, but when his wallet was a few bills lighter, they left. Caroline easily fell into step beside him. The sidewalk was busier now—not so busy the cloth of her shirt _had_ to constantly brush his, tantalizing him with the unfulfilled promise of skin-to-skin contact.

Klaus took advantage of the mood. Each time they turned a corner his fingertips grazed her elbow. The two moments she hesitated, unsure where they were going, he gave the small of her back the barest of prodding.

In his periphery he caught the subtle upturn of her mouth. With delicate casualty, Caroline tucked some hair behind her ear. Sunlight caught the tiny pearls she wore with a gentle gleam.

Versatile jewelry, indeed.

As they silently approached his chosen destination, Klaus heard the barest gasp. "What _happened?_"

Before them lay an expansive stretch of jagged ruins. Layers of earth had been disturbed and upturned, littered with dangerous, splintered slabs of wood. Cracked and crumbled stone lent a foreboding quality to the atmosphere. The beautiful sunny day only served to show off the entire solemn area, allowing filaments of light into places there ought never be.

Caroline shook her head. "This wasn't the hurricane, was it." As she spoke she quickly turned the question into a statement.

Grim pride poured into Klaus as she surveyed the damage. He took a few steps forward, turning to face her with his arms outstretched. "This," he intoned, "used to be my greatest enemy in my battle to regain control of this city." He smirked and gestured. "Here lies the conniving dead of what were once the powerful witches of the French Quarter; their ancestors disturbed and, thus, the seat of their power obliterated. Quite the unusual coven."

He smiled at Caroline's stunned expression. "In other words, those who attempted to murder my daughter not moments out of the womb."

Now more than ever he was happy she had visited New Orleans. They truly had much to share.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for sticking with me so far, everyone! Despite come complaints, it seems the general consensus is that the story is working well on its own, so I'm pretty happy with that. My apologies for those who felt I "made" Caroline sleep with Stefan. In addition to loving a lot of characters, I also am pretty diverse with my pairings. Something I picked up in the Saiyuki fandom several years ago. Klaroline, Steroline, Forwood, Klefan, Stebekah, Stexi-I love them all, even if Klaroline and Stexi (is that even a thing? I just can't get over her smashing his face into the car window) are my ideal OTPs for either man/woman. So, yeah, that's going to be a thing with me. I kinda find the idea of Caroline remaining chaste for Klaus a little... off, for her character. so if you're hoping Klaus and Caroline were, uh, inactive in the ten years... you're going to be disappointed. Sorry!_

_Okay, soapbox goes back under the podium. Thanks for reading!_


	11. Chapter 11: Deny, Deny, Deny

I don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any characters, or the concept of Klaus as a daddy. Seriously, I never would have come up with that on my own, no matter how fun it's become to exploit.

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><p>Initially Caroline found Klaus's self-proclaimed title <em>King of New Orleans<em> more than a little over the top. Not out of character, of course. He'd always possessed an affinity for dramatic flair.

This was one of those times his Shakespearean proclivities made one hell of an impact. The enormity of his destruction hit her with each word that slipped off his tongue. So much was conveyed in his tone alone: fury, anguish, victory. Part of her was tempted to question how much of this travesty was for his daughter and how much was for his personal gain.

_Or, crazy idea so hang in there, maybe this once they were one in the same._

It was still uncomfortably weird to think of the infamous Klaus Mikaelson as a parent. Hell, her father had turned out to walk the fine line between loving and abusive, and he was nowhere near the monster the original hybrid was.

He was cruel, bloodthirsty, and after a thousand years more than likely insane.

Caroline shook her head to clear her thoughts, hugging herself as she sighed.

"Okay… wow," she said slowly. "Kind of an odd spot for a date, but okay. Seriously. Wow."

Mischief glinted in his eyes. "I wasn't aware the terms had shifted. Had I know this was a date I would have reserved this setting for another more appropriate moment."

Damn it.

Caroline scrambled to shift gears. "I've been meaning to ask. Is it normal for your lackeys to try staking new neighbors?"

Klaus arched an eyebrow, mild displeasure dimming his gaze at her change of subject. "Not unusual, no."

"Yeah, well, tell your stalker buddy not to do it again." She paused. "I mean… we're good. I'm assuming."

_"__Friends… then?"_

The tentative words filtered back in as she recalled quite possibly the most bizarre turning point in their… acquaintanceship. The first time she had heard a genuine tremor of uncertainty in his voice. A rare sign of vulnerability that he only showed her once more later on.

Klaus feigned interest in the ground as he strode back to her. "Once again, it was nothing personal. Marcel understands his duties."

Caroline scoffed. "Your friend's _duties_ include killing the vampires who try to move in?"

"Well, if you're moving in, might I offer you a room?" Klaus asked, a dangerous edge to his pleasantry. "My home doesn't lack for space."

He'd gotten much closer in the space of her blink. Flustered, Caroline smacked his chest with the heel of her hand, glowering when he just laughed at her. "Don't change the subject," she accused.

Klaus continued to laugh. "Why not? Wasn't that the game you started?"

"No!" Well, yes, but that wasn't the point. "Look," she said, diverting her eyes and laying her hands flat as though on a table. She needed a moment to realign her thoughts. "I just gave _some_ consideration to actually traveling, like you used to talk about. Except you weren't supposed to _still_ be here when I visited."

"I see." His voice was too calm for her liking. "Where else have you been so far?"

Nowhere.

Caroline hadn't been anywhere else yet. Oh, she and her friends had one had plans. Elena wanted to go to Chicago and work as a doctor in the most dangerous neighborhoods she could find. Bonnie had departed for Oregon, hoping to find some peace and solace from the dramatics witchcraft had brought her over the years.

Not that Caroline herself hadn't considered her options. New York had been an obvious stop, as well as Seattle, Paris, Rome, Tokyo… the longer she'd thought about it, the more she'd found Klaus's offers to travel slipping back into her head. He continued to plague her long after his absence, something she had been so certain would fade after not getting so much as a text from him.

"I've been around plenty," she lied.

Klaus immediately scowled at that. With a disapproving look, he shook his head and brushed past her. Well, freaking fantastic, thought Caroline. He still had a hair-trigger switch for his moods.

"What?" she called after him.

"Nothing, Caroline," he threw over his shoulder, words dripping with sarcasm. "By all means, continue your worldly travels. If you ever happen to stop by again, try not to cause any trouble in my city."

What the hell was this? Caroline growled and flashed in front of him, putting her hand on his chest. "Wait," she started.

He shoved her hand away, though made no effort to put space between them. "Perhaps you remember me as the hybrid who owned nothing but his pride and maybe a sibling or two in coffins throughout the years. But you seem to mistake who I am here. This is my city." He became more heated as he spoke. "My streets, my humans, my 'wolves, my vampires, and the few witches I _permit_ to remain. You want to _vacation_—" somehow he made the word sound like a curse "—here, fine. But do not forget whose domain you are in."

Caroline was left speechless. When she couldn't summon a response quick enough, he gave her one last curt look and zipped off, vanishing before she thought to look which direction he would actually go.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. Where had any of that even _come_ from?

"Pain in my ass," she muttered.

At least he hadn't taken her too far from civilization. Caroline wound her way back to familiar territory. Much of her world felt surreal now.

Shopping, she decided. Shopping always made her feel better, didn't it? A small comfort, but a human one that reminded her she'd never completely lose her sense of self. She meandered further from the culture-steeped levels of town, finding a more familiar American urban atmosphere once she put some sizable distance between herself and the French Quarter and Klaus's stupid tantrum.

Yet when she sat in a chain café well into the evening, barely tasting her burnt macchiato, Caroline realized she was obsessing over every detail of their date—_Outing,_ she corrected herself. Klaus had reneged on calling it a date. Why she'd started, she had no clue.

If anything, they'd spent more time together than ever before. Well, positive time, anyway. Time where he hadn't bitten her with his venomous hybrid teeth or had to wander the dark forests with her while looking for a dozen insane witches. Their banter had always been mean-spirited, and often lead to corrosive arguments.

So why was this different?

When somebody decided to share her table, Caroline caught his now-familiar scent before she saw him. She groaned. "Okay, seriously, you _have_ to cut out the whole following me thing if you don't want to be labeled a stalker."

Marcel shrugged, folding his hands over each other. "In time, baby vamp, being called a stalker will become a compliment. I'd be sparse with what you think are insults if I were you. Other less intelligent vampires might think you're flirting with them."

She sat back, startled. "You—no. I am _not_ flirting with you," she objected. "Don't even start getting any ideas."

A wry smile twisted his lips. "I like my head exactly where it is, thanks."

"Like Klaus would care. He just left me!" She hadn't meant to blurt out the last part, but now the dam had burst. "Once upon a time Mr. I'm Going To Ruin Everyone's Lives With My Stupid Plans could take a jab, but he just freaked out and left!"

To her surprise, Marcel nodded. Something akin to sympathy glowed in his eyes. "Trust me. I got to experience _years_ of the guy's temper when I was a kid."

Caroline threw her hands up in the air. "When did this become Crazytown?" she asked. "The Klaus I knew never had kids around. I didn't even think he knew what they were anymore. I mean, he'd know what they _were_, but—when did this start happening?"

Marcel sighed heavily. He leaned back, glancing around the café. "I really just wanted to see how alive you were, baby vamp. Not open the Pandora's box of Klaus's personal issues." When all he received was a cold stare from Caroline, he grimaced. "Look. I know what part of him you did—to a degree. But I've also been around him for the past few years, so maybe I can give you a few pointers on what a decade can do to a man."

"Nice try," she said. "He's been cuckoo for centuries. Pretty obvious."

"Well, yes. But this is the first time he's been a father, too."

God, she was so _sick_ of hearing about that. "Yeah. I'll bet it's just been a real turnaround for him. Loved what you guys did with the witch cemetery, by the way."

Her barb didn't go unnoticed. "Hey, Klaus is the history buff," Marcel claimed, raising one hand. "What's past is past for me." His tone seemed contrastingly bitter to his words. Caroline took a swig of her coffee so she wouldn't have to fill in the silence. Marcel seemed more than willing to do it for her. "All I'm saying is, before you go at it with him like he's the same sociopath you knew in Mystic Falls, maybe you should get a better look at his new family."

The very idea made her uncomfortable. Caroline shifted in her seat. "How did you know where I was from?"

Marcel smiled. Always that same smile, yet somehow it was becoming a little more reassuring than unnerving. "You really should stop by the compound, baby vamp. Take a look around. He didn't start painting blondes until he came back from his little trip from Mystic Falls, after all."

She wasn't going, Caroline decided before he even finished his sentence. Not a chance. No way. Klaus could go to hell, for all she cared.

She'd be gone before he even thought to calm down.

And besides, she was just visiting.

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><p>AN: Thanks to those who continue to support me! You guys are the best.


	12. Chapter 12: Royal Responsibilities

I still possess no ownership of The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, New Orleans, or the characters portrayed within these shows. I hesitate to say I own the two minor OCs within, but they are not part of the original works and are just here for expanse upon this fanfic.

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><p>He had an appointment with the 'wolves tonight. Nothing serious, from the sounds of it. Just the usual check-in, ensuring everything operated smoothly, while Hayley fielded their infernal complaints and argued with him over what was or was not acceptable to allow.<p>

Klaus was in no mood. "Go yourself," he snapped into the receiver. "As their queen, you are more than capable."

Brittle patience threatened to pierce his eardrums. "If you expect me to do this alone, then you'll have to cut your date short and come home. I'm _not_ taking Hope to this particular hellhole."

Rebekah was still off in Europe, else she would have been more than thrilled to watch her niece. A small growl slipped from Klaus's throat. He ever regretted allowing his little sister to come and go as she pleased, but this was apparently a special anniversary for her. He hadn't wanted to be privy to the details. It was odd enough knowing she had begun passing up men who at least appeared her own age for a yearly rendezvous with a certain aging former quarterback.

"So have Marcel watch her." Not that it mattered. Klaus had long since left Caroline in the cemetery. But at the moment he was still fuming over her audacity to needle his intentions and then outright lie to his face.

Hayley sighed over the phone. "A—no. And B—even if I wanted to, your bestie isn't here, and he didn't leave a note."

Klaus couldn't hear his daughter in the background. It made him suspicious. "She'll have to learn the responsibilities of leadership sooner or later," he said reasonably. "I don't see why you insist on shielding her from her duties, particularly when she loves them so much."

Her words came out short. "Because I, oddly enough, think she ought to decide what she wants. And maybe what she'll want, as an intelligent _adult_, is no part of your insanity." She paused, satisfaction creeping into her voice. "Besides, New Orleans is so small for a girl like her."

Actually, he didn't disagree. Klaus pressed his lips into a firm line. "Fine. I'll be home shortly."

At first, he thought she'd already hung up. Then a scratchy sound much like a hand releasing the receiver rustled, and her voice returned with a bristling vengeance. "Yeah, don't bother. Your little friend is here. Enjoy your date."

This time she ended the call.

Klaus scowled, resisting the urge to crush the phone with his hand. It would take so little effort; bring just a fraction of delicious satisfaction.

He still intended to go home, but first he decided to grab a drink. It crossed his mind to bring home a meal for his daughter, but he quickly dismissed it. Hope would only become upset that he didn't think she could do it on her own.

And he refused to patronize his own flesh and blood. Not like Mikael had to him. They would not be the same kind of father.

Klaus strode into his favorite haunt with purpose, seating himself at the bar. It was still early enough that the clientele was still scant, so the bartender approached him quickly. She was a work to appreciate, with smooth cocoa skin and slanted eyes that spoke of a few secrets. Her name badge read _Ash,_ but Klaus had found with a little digging her full name was Aislynn.

"It's been a while," she greeted. "The usual?"

Klaus just watched her expectantly. Wryly she smiled and sashayed to the bar-back, using a stool to reach up to the topmost shelf for a bottle of caramel-colored liquor.

The whiskey burned his throat, a sweet aged aftertaste of port wine smoothing the tones. Klaus nudged the empty glass forward. Ash still held the bottle in her hand, and poured him another shot.

This one he chose to sip. "Has she been by lately?"

Ash didn't bother to clarify who he meant. "Nope," she said. "And she won't be. Still pretty pissed, I'd say." When he scowled, she added, "But she's doing well. Much better now that she's out of the city. Says Lutcher gives her a little more peace."

While it was good to hear one of the few humans Klaus had any semblance of nostalgia for was doing well, he had other reasons for choosing this bar. "I actually didn't come here to discuss Camille," he said with deadly calm. When Ash stiffened in the shoulders, he couldn't help but enjoy the blanket of satisfaction that enveloped him. "What I want is an exchange of favors."

It had been some time since favors had been traded. Ash tapped a manicured finger against the counter, her full painted lips pursed. "What sort?"

Klaus leaned forward, sliding his empty glass toward her. Ash responded by grabbing a crystalline cup, doubling his drink. "I'll permit Élodie to expand her coven by three members. In return, I'll need one of her best to keep an eye on a dear friend of mine."

If Ash was surprised by the request, she didn't show it. "I'll pass along the word," she replied. "Who is this friend?"

Klaus bared his teeth in a gesture that wasn't quite a smile. "Élodie will know. I'm certain she stole a glance earlier this afternoon."

The bartender wasn't pleased at being left out. It was par for the course. Never give a hand up to more potential adversaries than necessary. Agreements with the few remaining witches were tenuous, particularly since all of them were transplants. Since his obliteration of the cemetery, any and all witches originally of his mother's influence had dwindled to nothing more than mere humans. All but a straggling few had fled, and those few were largely former elders who stubbornly refused to vacate the city they still deigned to call home.

Élodie and Ash were not of those without power. They were family members of a long line of witches Klaus had always kept indebted to him, tracing their faithful lineage back to the decades he had hunted down the key to unlocking his werewolf side and capturing Katherine Petrova. For decades Elodie had done her part, keeping low on Marcel's radar as she kept her home in New Orleans while still responding to Klaus's occasional requests. An old witch with the youthful face of a fifty year-old woman and one of the handful of people still walking this earth Klaus almost dared to trust.

Reluctantly, Ash repeated, "I'll pass the word along." Then she smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast to her red lips. "Anything else I can help you with?"

Klaus smirked, leaning forward. She smelled of hand soap and vervain.

And she was nowhere near what he desired.

"That'll do, sweetheart," he said with his most cutting condescension. He then tipped the drink back, downing the fiery liquid with little time to appreciate the years it took to age in its casket. A good liquor was always as old as an old human, and only his generosity allowed the establishment to keep such desirable stock.

Klaus tossed a few bills to the table, not much less than what he had paid toward Élodie's place earlier. Ash pretended not to notice, setting to clean out his empty glass. A small smile betrayed her thoughts.

So few were worth his thoughtfulness anymore, Klaus decided as he casually strode out. No matter what changes had occurred for him, that was one constant. Too many self-serving creatures out there remained intent on shattering his trust well before they ever earned it. His own family had done so time and again.

The closer his legs carried him to his home, the more he grimly wondered if his daughter was fated to have the same callous impulses.

Upon striding through the threshold, Klaus was immediately struck by how suspiciously quiet his self-appointed castle was. He stood still in the center of the room, quieting his own breathing as he listened; smelled; watched.

Too quiet. His daughter ought to have been destroying something, prodding into an area that wasn't hers, causing some form of mischief that lead to her near-daily punishments. Faint traces of Hayley could be smelled where he stood, indicating her last movements had been over this floor and out the door.

And another scent he refused to believe, because it was equally confounding and infuriating.

Klaus stalked up the stairway, tracing his fingers along the polished stone. Deliberately he allowed his steps to echo. Any person inside ought to have their heart pounding in anticipation, and he savagely relished in the minor fantasy.

Hope's room was a dark disaster. Curtains torn from the windows and shredded, her bed overturned and mattress against the opposite wall. A delicate souvenir doll lay in pieces near his feet, its hair the same ginger tint and wild disarray of his daughter's.

No blood.

He crept down the hall and past the room he'd forced her into the scalding water. Past the room Hayley and Elijah occasionally shared clandestine visits, past his brother's simplistic luxury of a bedroom, and several more that included owner ship of Rebekah, Marcel, and a guest area meant for the occasional ambassador of Hayley's pack.

Finally to his room, where the door stood open like a gaping maw. No light but for the bloody hues of the setting sun casting ominous rays through the curtains. No destruction. No struggle.

Just a little girl sitting upon his bed, clutching a torn piece of paper and sniffling.

Klaus's heart clenched uncomfortably. His jaw set as he turned on the light, earning the startled jump of the small body on his covers. With his expression impassive, he walked closer. He knew very well what Hope held in her hands. The oversized sketchbook still sat upon the easel where he had left it, minus one page covered with raging strokes of chalk and wax. Vibrant colors of orange, red, and black, depicting the rough sketchy appearance of a small girl with a fiercely twisted face.

What he was interested in was her expression. And Hope seemed conflicted as she watched him, her eyes and nose red, but her jaw squaring just as his did when determination set in.

He kept an eye on her but walked to the easel, removing the oversized sketchbook and setting it to the side. Calmly, he replaced it with the final bit of canvas he possessed. Next he removed brushes and acrylic paints from a nearby drawer, setting them up beside the easel. Dabbing a bright bristle brush into a light peach, he began his short, even strokes across the canvas.

Behind him, Hope shifted, watching him work. She grew more fidgety as he switched brushes, using darker and lighter shades to blend.

At last, Hope blurted, "Why do you keep painting her?"

Klaus didn't allow her voice to distract him. He continued purposefully. "Should you ever decide to learn art rather than just destroy mine, I'll be more than happy to explain what a muse is," he informed her. He next went for a dark golden hue and a pointed tip brush, making small, fine strokes.

Insistence flooded her young voice. "Why are hers always so pretty?" Paper rustled, and he knew without looking that she was waving the harsh sketch in her hands. "And mine is mean?"

Pressing his lips together into a slash, Klaus leaned in to obstinately focus on the fine lines. "You angered me."

"You're always mad at me."

"I can't help but feel you just want the attention," he said sharply. He had to stop then, lest his rising ire affect his piece. "Considering I have twice found you ruining my work."

He heard Hope's feet hit the floor. The boiling fury of her infamous tantrums began to bubble into her tone. "Then stop painting her! Paint me nice! Paint Mommy or Uncle Elijah or Aunt Bekah! I don't want her here. I don't!"

Klaus whirled with inhuman speed and grabbed her by the chin with one hand, his brush hoisted in midair with the other. Blazing hazel eyes glared into his, wet and bloodshot and screaming unspeakable levels of pain that he and his entire family seemed destined to carry.

This was where he was supposed to comfort her as a father should. Soothing words ought to swath his daughter with love and warmth, assuring her that she was the light of his life and nothing would ever stand in his way to ensure her safe and happy future.

Such was not ever to be the life of any child of his.

Quietly, he said, "Hope, I have torn witches, 'wolves, and vampires asunder to avenge the mere thought of laying a finger to harm you. I have burned this city to the ground and rebuilt it as your home. Your mother has died and come back to life for the sake of protecting yours." He searched her eyes, watching as the intensity of his voice showed slow, profound effect that shifted the colors of her gaze from simple hazel to fiery gold and green. "This city is my portrait of you. Its culture and beauty is yours to behold. Those who walk within its limits are your subjects, bound to follow your order barring no other voice but my own. You are the Princess of New Orleans." Gradually his hold on her softened. Hope's eyes glistened. Her mouth trembled with tremendous effort not to show weakness.

Shaking his head, he kept his expression blank and finished, "If you still must ask for more, then I fear I have spoiled you, nor have I assured you of all I have and will continue to do in your name." He placed his hand to the back of her head, pressing her forward to plant the gentlest kiss upon her forehead. All for Hope, his miracle daughter. Yet he couldn't quite bring himself to say those words, not to her face. Never aloud.

Hot tears dripped down her face when he pulled away. Hope's gaze was flooded then, confusion, hurt, and the pure adoration only a child could hold piercing his heart. Still he didn't crack his quiet expression, though inside that foreign, frightening joy his daughter instilled in him from the moment he laid eyes upon her in the church at her birth.

Releasing his hold, Klaus straightened his back. He firmed his voice again. "Go to bed."

Hope hesitated, glancing down at the paper in her hands. Klaus expected her to leave it, tear it up, anything other than look at the reminder of the rage she had incited within him.

Instead she clutched it in both hands as she left the room. Her footsteps fell with subdued quiet and faded into her bedroom. The door clicked shut with a note of finality.

Klaus allowed exhaustion to hit him. He was tired, so tired, of the roller coaster that was Hope.

At the same time, a quiet pride sparked in his chest. This seemed the first time his words had gotten through to her without resorting to violence or using an example of bloodshed.

Progress perhaps, he thought sardonically.

So engrossed in his thoughts was he that Klaus nearly missed the slow and barely audible creak of his door opening again. He raised his head. The muscles on his face froze.

Caroline stood just inside the threshold, her gaze as weary as his, yet sparking with a foreign concept she never held toward him before. Klaus hardly dared label it as respect, it was so unusual to see directed at him.

"So," she said softly. "What else should I know about your new life?" And with that she closed the door behind her.

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><p><em>AN: A couple reviewers mentioned liking how Caroline and Marcel bond. I was surprised to find myself digging the idea as well. Not in any romantic sense, but in a sort of, "Wow, we're both dealing with this asshole yet we still find ourselves caring what he thinks of us, what gives, are we nuts?" sense. I may not be able to resist writing it in at least once more.  
><em>

_On another note of the story, I'm finding that as it progresses I'm beginning to dig a bit deeper into Hope's heritage/workings and just how deep Klaus's fingers are in the New Orleans supernatural world. But the heart of this story is mostly meant to explore Klaus and Caroline-as evident by their limited viewpoints-and I don't intend to make this into an epic in any fashion. So while there are hints of bigger things, I wanted to forewarn that I won't be delving too far into it all. Not that I don't care-just that this is my side project, and I don't want to map/plan out anything complicated when I have original novels to be working on in the same sense. So my apologies in advance if this seems like an unfinished tease at times.  
><em>

_Thanks for reading!_


	13. Chapter 13: Foolishness

I hold no ownership over The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any of their characters, and only take responsibility for shamelessly taking liberties with Hope's character.

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><p>Caroline could easily say that Hayley was the last person she expected to answer the door of Klaus's compound.<p>

The 'wolf girl didn't look any older, and that itself spiked Caroline's skepticism. Werewolves still aged, and this particular one should have looked to be in her early thirties. But no lines marred her face, her healthy complexion smooth and vibrant as ever. Hayley's sharp eyebrows rose when she saw Caroline, and then a slow, conniving smile touched her lips.

"Yeah, don't bother," Hayley said into the phone in her hand. She motioned for Caroline to remain silent. Against her impulse, Caroline complied. "Your little friend is here. Enjoy your date."

She hung up and slipped the phone into her back pocket. "Long time no see."

"Same," Caroline said, unable to keep an edge of hostility out of her voice. "Looks like backstabbing gets you far in life."

Hayley rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. Look, just to be clear, I was drunk when it all went down, and if I could pick a different father for Hope, I would." She shrugged. "What's done is done."

Klaus and Hayley. The very idea heated Caroline with revulsion and fury, which she fought to choke down. She'd come here for a reason, after all. Even if the mother of that reason was someone she held an incredible grudge against for her past indiscretions.

She wanted to make a cold comment about Klaus's supposed taste in women. Instead she forced a smile. That came easily enough. She was the former Miss Mystic Falls, after all. "I heard you were in need of a babysitter. Figured I could lend a hand. Granted, your kid tried to kill me the other day."

Hayley smirked, stepping aside and gesturing for her to come in. "Figures that bastard can listen to his messages but not lift a finger himself." Caroline wondered which bastard she spoke of. Likely Marcel, but it wouldn't surprise her if she was speaking of another. "But hey, if Hope hates you, maybe she'll listen to you better. Seems to work with her father, at least."

_Whoa. Major dysfunction alert,_ Caroline's brain warned her. She waved it aside. A kid who hated her was the least of her concerns.

Still she accepted the invite and stepped inside. Almost immediately her eyes fell upon the figure at the top of a set of stairs. Hope stared down at her, her hair wild and tumbling down to the small of her back, an easy summer shift clothing her body with nothing to cover her feet.

Caroline raised an eyebrow. Hope stuck out her tongue.

Her mother wasn't blind. "I thought I told you to take a bath," Hayley said to her daughter.

Hope shrugged. "I'm clean."

Hayley looked at her pointedly. "Pretty sure I didn't ask for a debate. Bath, now."

Stubbornly, Hope lingered. "_She's_ not gonna watch me, is she?"

Caroline opened her mouth to fire back a sharp retort, but Hayley strode toward her daughter, a dangerous edge underlying her molasses tongue. "Oh, she is, and you're going to listen to her. Because if you don't, I'll keep you locked in here for every birthday until you're eighteen. How does that sound?"

It seemed a moot threat, but Hope's eyes widened. She whirled and ran down the hall until she ducked into a room, slamming the door behind her. Not moments later the faint gushing sound of water pouring from a fat spout resounded in Caroline's heightened hearing.

She appraised Hayley. "I gotta say, I never thought you'd make a good mom."

"Yep. I'm _full_ of surprises." Hayley faced her again, adjusting a chain around her neck. "Let's make this easy. Instead of being a favor to me, let's just call this sticking it deep in Klaus's craw. Hope should listen to you now. And if she doesn't, let me know."

Despite herself, Caroline felt a smile creep across her lips. Though they had parted on ill terms, she felt a kindling of liking toward the person Hayley had become over the years.

"I'll be back by ten," Hayley added as she walked toward the door. "No idea when her father will be home, so don't let her wait for him. Her bedtime's at nine."

"Sure. No problem."

Hayley granted her a brief, sympathetic smile. "I don't know why you decided to come here, but welcome to New Orleans."

"I think that's the first time hearing that has actually felt welcoming," Caroline admitted.

With another smile but no words, Hayley left.

Caroline blew out a gust of air, eyeing the upper halls warily. Well, she had decided to take Marcel's advice in getting to know Klaus's family life. So far, not too painful.

Not too painful so long as she didn't think about Klaus and Hayley… copulating. Suppressing a shudder, Caroline climbed the stairs.

She briefly contemplated knocking on the bathroom door but decided against it. Instead she wandered to the nearest room, deciding to take a peek inside.

It was the most opulent child's room she'd ever seen. The bed was enormous, large enough that five adults could sleep on it comfortably and barely touching. Filmy white tuile hung delicately from the canopy top. The pillows were large and looked unbearably comfortable, with thick white blankets tousled over the mattress. Many shelves adorned the walls, stuffed full of toys, books, electronics, and knick-knacks of various felines ranging from house cats to panthers. The closet was wide open, larger than any child could possibly need, with more clothes than Hope could wear before she outgrew them.

"Unbelievable," Caroline muttered. No wonder Hope was such a brat.

She turned and continued down the hall. The bathroom door remained shut, and only Hope's occasional splashing reassured her the girl remained inside. Apparently the kid was intent on avoiding her as much as possible.

Well, that was fine. It was only eight-thirty.

The next couple doors revealed more luxury; a study, something akin to a living room, a guest room. But the last she walked into stopped her cold.

Klaus's room.

There was no question about it. Papers and canvas were propped against one wall with care and purpose. Atop one small table beside were a few scant supplies, residing next to an easel with a harsh drawing Caroline had to turn on the light to truly appreciate. The colors shouted to her with furious vibrancy.

Aside from the one side, the bedroom was neat and orderly, though not without décor. A beautiful, darkly enticing bed stood proudly in the middle of the room. A couple paintings were hung on the walls, depicting any subject that evoked emotions ranging from peace to despair. Yet despite the cleanliness of the room, stains littered the carpet and walls. Something about the atmosphere just spoke multitudes of pride and torment.

She knew she shouldn't, but Caroline began to poke around a bit, curious how the Original hybrid had been living for the past decade. Nothing too surprising jumped out at her. Only that drawing kept catching her eye, and she found herself turning to scrutinize it every few minutes.

Within moments, Caroline would be ashamed she'd allowed herself to get lost in her own thoughts. She was standing close to the easel, wondering what could have possibly inspired the piece when pain abruptly exploded from the back of her knee.

Caroline yelped and fought to regain her balance. She whirled to find Hope pulling her foot back, clad in silken pink pajamas and her small features twisted in frustration.

Furious, Caroline caught the child's leg and yanked her up so Hope was dangling. This just enraged the child further. "Let me go! You let me go or I'll kill you! I'm the hybrid princess!" she screamed.

Caroline fought to hold the girl at arm's length. "What is your problem?" she demanded.

"You can't be in here. It's my dad's room and you're not allowed!"

Her immediate retort was to say that she was certain Klaus would, in fact, allow her in here, but angry as she was Caroline still didn't think it was an appropriate thing to say to a child. Even an annoying, violent, hot-tempered pain in the ass hybrid child.

"When your mom gets home, you're in _so_ much trouble," she informed the girl.

Hope snarled. Before she said anything, however, her eyes fell past Caroline and the fury twisted into something else. She went still and silent.

Uneasy and cautious, Caroline took a risk and grabbed Hope by her arm, righting her and setting the girl on the floor. Hope hardly looked at her, still fixated on the easel.

Then, to Caroline's shock, the girl began to cry.

Confusion overwhelmed her. Glancing between Hope and the drawing, it dawned on Caroline that the messy lines made some sort of sense to the child. She hesitated to say anything, merely watching as Hope went up and ripped the paper from the oversized sketchpad.

Tears streaming, Hope said thickly, "Go 'way." Caroline shook her head. But when Hope whirled and cried out, "Just go away! Leave me alone!" Caroline didn't want to press into the situation any further.

She walked out and into the guest room next door, sinking onto the bed as Hope's sobbing rose and fell.

Fifteen minutes past nine, she heard Klaus's footsteps.

Caroline held her breath, wondering who he would find first. But the man didn't pause, striding past the closed door and into his room.

The following conversation grabbed hold of Caroline's heart and squeezed. She heard Hope's desperation, Klaus's coldness, and then the extraordinary change when he talked to his daughter like a real father.

Or, well, close enough. It was still an amazing difference she had never expected.

She had second thoughts about approaching him, but he was bound to discover her on the premises sooner or later. Caroline opened the door to his room, taking in the unusual expression he wore. Clearly, she had caught him in a position he had no preparation for.

"So what else should I know about your new life?" she finally asked.

Klaus didn't respond. Instead he stared at her as a variety of reactions warred in his stormy eyes. Shaking his head, he turned his back to her and returned to his painting.

Undeterred, Caroline stepped closer. "I saw Hayley. She asked me to watch Hope. You know, said it would piss you off."

"Astute," Klaus said curtly. His hand moved with defying care over the canvas.

She let out a long breath. "And, well, sorry it was past her bedtime. She just… was sad."

Klaus said nothing. After a few moments he switched brushes, dipping the tip into some pale yellow.

Agitation threatened to explode from her. Caroline reminded herself that she was, in fact, Controlling Caroline, which meant she could exert just as much restraint on herself as any person on a prom committee. "Please just talk to me."

An impatient sound slipped from his throat. Klaus finally lowered the brush to the table, deigning to turn and grant her a hostile stare. "Your services are appreciated, Caroline. Feel free to leave when you like."

"And what if I don't like?"

"Then you're a fool."

Well, _that_ was just uncalled for. Folding her arms beneath her breasts, Caroline shot back, "If you were actually half as smart as you think you are, you wouldn't have left me alone earlier. So who's the fool now?"

At last that provoked a reaction. Klaus slammed his hand to the table, causing supplies to clatter and fall to the already stained floor. "Shots fired, love? Do try to recall that you found it convenient to _lie to me_."

"Oh, wow, what a shock!" Caroline threw her arms into the air. "I lied! Like you've never lied to me. You're a real beacon of honor, you know that?" Incredulity swelled her voice. "Seriously? You freaked out because I told a lie?"

Klaus advanced on her. Coiled rage emanated from his body, staining his lips as he sneered. "You disappoint me. Here I believed you a strong, fierce vampire with the world at her feet, yet you're nothing but a tease. No better than a Petrova."

Angry words were on the tip of Caroline's tongue when he preemptively silenced her with a crushing kiss.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm aware many are displeased with my version of Hope. Admittedly, I'm drawing a lot of this from the psychoanalyses of criminals with harsh/abusive pasts. (P.S. I love true crime. It's my longest-standing addiction right next to writing.) While it's not always true that violent parents beget violent children, it's true enough that issues as an adult can be linked to similar upbringings as a child. Therefore, when I express my pleasure for those who call this realistic, please know I truly mean it. I am a huge fan of heavy doses of realism in characters, regardless of the genre._

_Not that I'm not taking the dislike of Hope's character into consideration. I'm well aware it's outside the norm, and that the fandom tends to either pretend the pregnancy never happened or that Hope is a sweet, if at worst mischievous, little girl. Neither are concepts that bother me. It's just that with my viewings of Klaus throughout bot TVD and (most of; I'm still behind on) TO, I have such a hard time believing he'd instantly be the most caring and amazing dad ever. (Besides, as all true daddy's girls do, I hold that for my own father.)_

_Also, as a sidenote, as of my current writing, I'm going to warn readers ahead of time that smut is a-comin'. I'll do my best to structure it so those who don't care for that sort of thing can skim to the next scene, but for those who enjoy it, I hope you'll look forward to it. Thanks for reading, everybody! Please keep the constructive criticisms coming! I don't take requests, but I still aim for accuracy.  
><em>


	14. Chapter 14: Unsolicited Advice

Somehow, I still do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters within.

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><p>Ridiculous, Klaus raged. No woman should ever have this much power over him. Yet two managed to worm their way in, and he couldn't make peace with either. His daughter inspired a need to protect even as she tested his desire to smash furniture just as she did. Nine years had never taken off the edge, had not once eased his fear that she too would one day stab him in the back.<p>

And Caroline just heightened his desire to unspeakable levels. Which must be why, though he had fantasized ripping off her lovely head just moments before, he had decided to kiss her instead.

The contact was searing; exhilarating. Caroline responded with gripping intensity, her fingers digging into his scalp as she pressed him impossibly closer. Klaus couldn't resist digging his nails into her arms, enjoying the pained gasp she emitted as he broke skin.

With that he pulled back. All his efforts had done nothing, he realized. A sliver of him had hoped that kissing her would even his thoughts; allow him to think past the blazing need to touch her, caress her, silence that impetuous mouth.

What a foolish idea.

Caroline kept her hands on the back of his head. Her blue eyes darkened. "What was that for?" she whispered.

Without an answer, Klaus shoved her to the bed with inhuman speed. He leaned over her, pinning her arms to the mattress and quietly admiring how her hair haloed around her head. All the beauty he could never encompass in his work was right beneath him, and he couldn't help that his carnal desire for her pressed against her thigh.

Caroline shivered. "Klaus, we can't…"

Because of Hope, he knew. His daughter wasn't too far, and even if she was, she possessed the same incredible hearing he did. For once it infuriated him, because he wanted nothing more than to take Caroline there upon his own bed just as he should have had the chance to years ago before she spurned his affections and simultaneously seduced him in the forest.

Not that he had complaints.

That gnashing hunger ate at him. Klaus growled and kissed her again, this time with more insistence. His whole body was alight with fire, and though touching her only stoked the flames he couldn't help but enjoy the pain. Better was that Caroline didn't cave to him—she _hungered_ for his affections. Nipping his lip, touching his face, stroking his hair, lightly dragging her nails from his throat down to the beads and leather that dangled from his neck.

That was what he loved most about her. Caroline gave as well as she received, no matter the circumstances.

Despite her protest not moments earlier, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt. Sharp nails tore lines of delicious pain down his back as she arched into him. Klaus growled into the kiss, dying to return the favor with a sharp bite—but he couldn't. For once, being a hybrid was absolutely aggravating.

Instead he brought her up with him, shifting her body just enough so he could throw her further onto the bed. Caroline's eyes blazed up at him, and her hands were on him again before he had so much as knelt over her. How undead fingers could feel so hot against his flesh Klaus neither knew nor particularly cared to ruminate.

Her shirt rode high, barely covering her breasts. Klaus took his time to admire with his mouth, kissing her and nipping the skin over her ribs without breaking skin. Beneath him Caroline gasped, muffling ticklish giggles with her arm.

Klaus knew then he was going to have her—and she him. He was ready to capitulate, allow her to consume him as the mere thought of her had exploded into a fiery, tender love over the years. Drawing himself back up to kiss her again, he paused to murmur in her ear, "_Rakhem na lekh._" She inhaled sharply. A dim part of him wondered if she actually understood what he'd just said, though he seriously doubted it.

Then the slam of a door made her start beneath him.

Klaus initially saw red, prepared to tear out the intestines of the person who dared to pull her out of their secluded passion and string the aforementioned entrails along the walls like tinsel. He broke free with a growl and straightened his clothing. Caroline sat up and smoothed her breezy shirt back over her stomach, the flush in her cheeks going back to a normal complexion.

Klaus was already walking toward the exit when his bedroom door opened. He stopped in his tracks, initially still infuriated. But centuries of practice kicked in and he forced himself at ease. "Brother. I would say welcome back, but I'm certain you've already had your coming home gift."

Elijah held presence that filled a room, so close to rivaling Klaus's own. His clean cut good looks, hawkish yet somehow gentle eyes, and propensity for wearing suits always commanded a sort of respect.

With most, anyway.

His brother offered him his infamous politician's smile. "My apologies, Niklaus, I did not realize…" He paused for the barest of breaths, casting a quick glance toward the bed. "… you still had company."

Klaus smirked. Before he could reply, a slow hiss sounded behind him as Caroline sucked in a breath between her teeth. The bed creaked as she rose. "Yeah, so, I can go now," she said.

"No rush," said Elijah mildly at the very same moment Klaus said, "Absolutely not." He shot his brother a poisonous stare, loathing the glimmer of amusement that arose in Elijah's gaze. Politely, yet with a subtle smile that grated on Klaus's very nerves, his brother cast his gaze toward the carpet.

Caroline stepped in front of him, her eyebrows high upon her forehead, arms crossed. "Excuse me?"

Evenly, Klaus replied, "I don't believe we were finished."

And, oh, how he hated the way his brother enjoyed the discomfort this position put him in. As Caroline narrowed her eyes, Elijah murmured, "As much good as this… situation apparently seems to be for my brother, I must request some time to speak with him. Preferably soon."

"Fine by me." Caroline raised her head, daring Klaus to challenge her—yet her defiance was softened by the faint, coy smile that tugged her mouth.

Casting invisible daggers with his eyes, Klaus forced his concern away from Elijah and to the matter at hand. Hopefully he could salvage the moment with some semblance of grace. "I'll see you out, then."

She didn't object.

Klaus caught the look his brother gave him. _Don't you run out,_ his eyes said. Inwardly Klaus scoffed. He could do as he damn well pleased. And he started by slowing his steps a bare fraction, taking the time to enjoy Caroline's heady scent, passion still lingering around her, and the way her hair breathlessly framed her face.

Near the front door he stopped. He reached out to tuck back a stray curl. She tilted her head the bare amount it took to look into his eyes. "What is it?"

"Nothing, love." He wanted to tangle his hands into her hair again. Restraint could very well kill him, but he convinced his hand back down to his side. "Just can't help but think about a trip to Norway. Tromsø in particular. The Northern Lights hardly come close to you in beauty, but I believe you'd find it a worthwhile sight."

"Smooth," she said wryly. A light shone through her gaze at his words, eclipsing any possibility she was displeased.

Caroline opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then leaned forward and granted him a kiss on the cheek. Unnatural warmth tingled where her lips brushed his skin. Klaus wrestled with the urge to whisk her out the door and to a more private location.

"Good night," she said.

Tense with desire, Klaus gave her a naturally cocky smile. "Good night, sweetheart."

But she didn't leave yet. Caroline lingered in the foyer, ostensibly looking at her surroundings. "Maybe," she said cautiously, "I could drop by tomorrow."

Klaus would have loved nothing more. And yet… "I intend to spend time with my daughter."

Her eyes betrayed her thoughts—disappointment, sadness; yet a positive glimmer of respect. Caroline nodded her assent.

Before she could turn her back, Klaus added, "However…" He deliberately paused. Caroline waited with tolerant amusement, and Klaus couldn't help but smile. "If you're free into the night, perhaps you'd appreciate a visitor."

Caroline lowered her head briefly, but he still caught her grin. Then she looked back up, her face a coy mask of feigned indifference. She wiggled her fingers before she left, her confident stride giving him all the answer he needed.

Klaus didn't shut the door until she was out of sight, and damn if she didn't take her time.

With utmost reluctance, he grimly returned to his room. Elijah stood in the center as though he hadn't moved. And, thought Klaus cynically, it was perfectly within reason that Elijah had not so much as moved a finger.

Without a guest present, his brother's stare went cold. Elijah was the only man Klaus had ever known to possess brown eyes that could become frigid as the Arctic.

Klaus didn't even twitch. He narrowed his own gaze, slow tension turning his muscles to tightly coiled springs.

"Now then," Elijah said quietly. "Perhaps we could talk about your treatment of Hope."

* * *

><p>Elijah had always been the brother Klaus could count on to stick up for family. Well, to a degree. He was certainly more reliable than his other siblings, even Rebekah. Foolhardy in his ideals, perhaps, but consistent.<p>

So when he suggested Klaus send Hope and Hayley elsewhere to live their lives, it took all Klaus had not to stake his brother right there. For the sake of bloody family.

With quiet fury, he snarled, "Was this your intention all along, _brother?_ Coerce me into accepting a fluke pregnancy just so you could run off with the mother and _my_ daughter?"

Elijah regarded him coolly, though hurt still glimmered in the depths of his stare. "Of course not."

Klaus began to pace, his movements akin to a tiger on the prowl. Rage heated his vision to a needlepoint peak. The nerve Elijah had, making demands of the king to separate himself from the only child he would ever sire.

Still in those disturbingly soft tones, his brother said, "Niklaus, I would enjoy nothing more than to watch you grow old—insomuch as you can—with your child. Preferably with Hayley in the picture, as well." That aggravating way Elijah's voice softened a barely perceptible note when he spoke the hybrid-mother's name immediately birthed fantasies of ripping off the impeccably dressed brother's head. How dare Elijah preach to him about his treatment of his daughter when it clearly came from a place of inexplicable love for Hayley? "However, in the past six years, both Hayley and I are… concerned… that Hope is not getting the constructive discipline she needs."

A sneer curled Klaus's upper lip. "If you have any concerns, perhaps you should take them up with Hayley's ineffectual discipline. It would seem I am the sole parent willing to be firm."

Elijah's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "I apologize for not seeing the problem before now. You seem to have mistaken discipline for abuse."

The only thought that kept Klaus from breaking his bedpost and spearing his brother was that he did _not_ want more damage than already done to his room. Instead he moved in a flash, grabbing Elijah by his crisp jacket and sending him flying out the bedroom door and into the hallway.

Elijah made no immediate move to defend himself. Instead when he fell, he turned and managed to land on his feet. Just as quickly he was gone, down the stairs and outside. Klaus exhaled through his nostrils, determinedly stalking after his brother. He hardly cast a sideways glance at Hope's closed bedroom door, silently ordering the girl to stay put _or else_.

She didn't need to know what sort of traitor her uncle was.

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><p><em>AN: I should have said this 2-3 chapters ago, but... over 100 reviews. **Thank you!** I know this fandom is huge, but I'm amazed to have that many, given how many stories are posted/updated per day. Even the ones I inherently disagree with, I appreciate wholeheartedly. I love when people are unafraid to tell me they think I'm doing something wrong. A writer is only as good as their honest critiquers; I've sincerely held this belief for years. So, again, thank you._

_I'm also considering another short epic after this one... with a little more humor. I had an idea years ago that was originally going to be for Damon. But, much as I adore the character (and I have since the books), I'm starting to think that the... indignity... would be so, so much more hilarious on Klaus. Once the Christmas-fic is done, I'll probably hop right on it, and have it ready to post by/before Easter. We'll see._

_Thanks for reading!_


	15. Chapter 15: Loopholes

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, New Orleans, etc. I have taken a lot of creative liberties with Hope, as well as expanding upon an original character I introduced earlier (though I hesitate to say I own her, as she's based in TVD/TO worlds).

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><p>Flushed with unsatisfied desire and raw giddiness, Caroline sank into her second-hand couch with a blood bag and allowed herself to reflect.<p>

She supposed, at this point, she could admit that _some_ part of her had decided to come to New Orleans because of Klaus. To see him, how he was faring, if he still resided in the city he spoke so fondly of. Not to say the allure of all he'd mentioned was nonexistent, but the almost tender way he'd admitted that all he could think of was showing her the sights had wriggled its way into her heart.

Not that she could have acknowledged that before today, of course. So much had changed in the past forty-eight, even four hours.

Caroline also supposed she could admit she was, mostly, pleasantly surprised. Yes, the idea of Klaus and Hayley—ugh, how?—_copulating_ still made her squeamish. And there was no way around the fact Hope was an insufferable brat. But—even so—Klaus himself impressed her. Still arrogant, still charming, still dangerous and definitely still deadly. But _now_ he held more patience and made more effort in general than Caroline had previously thought possible.

While it was wonderful he finally fought for someone other than himself (_And me,_ she quietly admitted), Caroline would be lying if she said she wasn't torn. On the one hand, his efforts for his daughter heightened his integrity, to say nothing of her faith in him.

On the other, if she stayed—_Unlikely,_ she told herself with that self-mocking hand squeezing her heart—she could have to split the affections of a man she… cared about… with more than just a daughter. She'd have to share with all the supernatural forces of New Orleans one way or the other.

It was certainly a daunting prospect, and not one she was completely convinced to get behind.

She was drawn to Klaus, no doubt about it. That kiss had shattered her resolve to deny, deny, deny; had brought her suppressed desires to a sizzling heat. Even before that, standing in his room as he attempted to shield what could only be humiliation that she had caught him in such a vulnerable moment, Caroline had felt her need to dislike him crumble.

These feelings of tumultuous fear and desire made her wonder just how far this escapade could go. Would she extend her visit? Caroline still intended to travel the world, but perhaps a longer vacation wouldn't hurt.

_Perhaps,_ she thought to herself, slurping the last drops of blood like the bag was a juice box, _Klaus would still be interested in showing me._

It was a selfish thought, taking her back to the time before he had a child. His intense promises of the wonders of Rome, Paris, and Tokyo. Cities she fully knew existed, yet, as he'd pointed out, had never had the chance to experience for herself. Under his current circumstances, it hardly seemed likely he'd have the time to fulfill said promises.

Not that she couldn't go alone. Hell no. She was Caroline Forbes, Independent Woman.

But it was always nice to share beauty with someone else.

With a sigh, Caroline nestled into the overstuffed cushions. She allowed the desolate bag to drop to the floor. Sleep seemed well earned at this point.

When she closed her eyes, she found herself reliving those steamy moments in his room. Caroline fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

What seemed like moments later, she jolted awake. Unease coursed through her deadened veins, spiking her sense of _wrongness_. A few years ago she might have sat up suddenly, prowling the house looking for an intruder.

That was the old Caroline.

The new, smarter, more predatory Caroline watched with her eyes, keeping her breathing light and her body utterly still. Somebody was here, that much was certain. The apartment smelled different. A charged atmosphere rose the hair on her arms and made her flesh tingle with the excitement of a potential upcoming battle.

Smarter and more predatory that she was—not to mention much shinier, like new—Caroline had never completely managed to reign her impatience. That was the problem with being a control freak. She could manage everything _but_ her high expectations.

Sitting up was just as much a mistake as she'd known. A shock of white hair bolted up from behind her couch. Caroline scrambled back to put distance between her and the intruder, intent on getting a look at her adversary first.

For a vampire, a second was all she needed. The woman was tiny and stooped, her hair a wild frizz of puff that went in every which direction but down. Her skin was darker than the latest hour, yet her eyes glowed an unnaturally brilliant blue.

Caroline bared her teeth.

"I'm not here to harm you, child."

The voice was barely a whisper, cracking with age like lips in a dry winter. Caroline narrowed her eyes and didn't retract her fangs, still poised to pounce.

"Get out," she demanded, her voice distorted by her extended fangs.

The woman smiled, and it was creepy. Oh, she had all of her teeth, and aside from the hair looked like any other great-great-great-grandmother willing to bake cookies… if those cookies were laced with arsenic.

"My name is Élodie."

The introduction successfully took Caroline off her guard. She blinked, squinting with her catlike sight at the tiny little old woman. _This_ was one of Klaus's dedicated witches he'd kept on hand for decades?

Grudgingly allowing her fangs to retract, Caroline asked, "What do you want?"

"For starters," whispered that crackling voice. "A cup of hot tea and honey. Yes. Yes, that sounds just lovely."

Caroline sighed.

She had no damn tea—what was she, English?—but Caroline managed to placate the woman with warm milk and honey. Élodie sat upon the couch, calmly sipping at the sweetened concoction. Too agitated to sit (in her _own home,_ she raged inwardly), Caroline paced while she waited for the witch to settle.

Just when she thought she would explode, Élodie spoke. "Klaus has requested I place some form of protection on you for your duration here."

Caroline groaned. Of _course_ he did. She had to wonder how much of it was his need for control in his kingdom. Probably close to 85.9%, but Caroline was not the most skilled mathematician, particularly when put on the spot.

"However," the witch smiled into her cup. It looked like a ceramic mug a child had painted in art class and baked in the kiln, complete with scrawling nonsense circles in a young attempt to be creative. "As great as my debt is to Klaus, I've always been a fan of a woman's choice."

A grim, satisfied smile tugged Caroline's mouth. "What a coincidence. Me, too."

"So, would you like it?"

"Not particularly, no." She shook her head. "I don't even know how long I'll be here."

"Mm_hmmm_." She didn't like the way Élodie said that. Rather than expound upon her thoughts, the witch said, "Then perhaps you'd like to know more about Hope Mikaelson."

_That_ caught her attention. Caroline perked up. While it was disrespectful in the worst way, she couldn't help but pry into that which Klaus refused to explain.

Okay, so maybe he had a right to privacy, but did he _really_ expect her to respect that after sending an ancient old woman after her for some alleged protection?

"So what's with the whole loophole?" she prodded.

Élodie hardly seemed interested in discussing that part. "Nature requires balance," she replied. Caroline fought not to roll her eyes; she'd heard it so many times in her life. "The Mikaelsons—though that is not what they were called before, surnames weren't so popular a concept for vagabonds in the new world—could not simply curse their children and subsequent descendants to infertility without some small give. Klaus's werewolf heritage made for the perfect loophole. _If_ he could unleash it, of course."

"Yeah, he's quite the little serial killer," Caroline muttered.

Élodie chose not to comment. "But he couldn't just run around having children willy-nilly." Caroline bit her lip down on a giggle; who _used_ words like that anymore? "Just the one. And only with a werewolf." A wry smile twisted her wrinkled lips. "I'm sure Esther hadn't counted on him ever having a tryst with a 'wolf."

Discomfort seeped into Caroline's posture, stiffening her back. She folded her arms over her chest. If only she could not be _bothered_ so much by the notion. It wasn't as though she'd held chaste in the interim between her evening with Klaus in the Mystic Falls woods and her trip south.

If Élodie noted her shift in mood, it didn't show. "Hope was born just a little witch. But, as you can plainly see, the werewolf gene has been awoken from within." This she noted with displeasure.

Caroline supposed all witches had their personal grudges against hybrids, regardless of who they aligned themselves to. "But she's a _hybrid_," she pointed out. "And she obviously ages… doesn't she?"

"Balance," Élodie said again, softly. "That girl is more unique than her father even knows."

Wait… Klaus didn't _know?_

"She's one-of-a-kind," said Élodie. "For whatever reason, she can grow fangs, and her blood has the properties of any vampire, though she does not require blood of the living to sustain herself. Her father's affinity for bloodlust passed on to her—hence the hybrid."

"An aging hybrid," murmured Caroline.

Élodie raised a white eyebrow. "An aging _witch_ hybrid," she corrected.

"_What?_ No." Caroline shook her head in disbelief. "I'm sorry, but no. One of my best friends is a Bennett witch. She told us. Witches can't turn into vampires without losing their powers."

Setting down her mug, Élodie sank back into the plump cushions, looking somehow even older than her years. Whatever that number was. "Witches have never been born to a hybrid descended from a line of witches."

Un. Freaking. Believable. Caroline finally sat on the armrest of her couch, wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with this information. Should she just take it at face value? Élodie had made no move against her—physically. No matter the woman's intentions, what she said was difficult to swallow. Balance of nature or not.

But she didn't ask Élodie to leave. Instead, she offered, "More milk?"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hopefully this clarifies a bit of what I think Hope has the potential to be. No, I don't think this minor characters are going to become major players. I just needed exposition, and, well, it still fits with an alternative I can see happening in TO eventually. So if I'm lucky, I haven't stretched the imaginations of the readers too much beyond belief. But if I have... as always, feel free to let me know._

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


	16. Chapter 16: Clean

I still failed to magically acquire any rights to The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any characters within. I have taken several liberties with Hope's character and abilities.

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><p>Why he hadn't plunged the silver dagger deep into the spoilt crevices of Elijah's chest, Klaus still wasn't sure. He was up in his room, physical wounds of their altercation healed. But the fresh cuts of betrayal threatened to bleed him dry of his pity once more, and he was barely containing his shaking from fury.<p>

How _dare_ Elijah tell him to send his only child away. _His_ flesh and blood. As though his brother had any right to Hope just because he held clandestine meetings with the mother when he chose to remain in the city.

He tried to focus his anger into something softer, yet couldn't force the brush to go gentle on the canvas. It was a mistake to make another attempt at imitating Caroline's likeness when he was so worked up, and yet….

Despite his fury, all he wanted was to see her again.

He needed to sleep, but that required calming down enough to allow slumber to cloak him. Instead he haggardly replaced the canvas, delicately setting it to the side. He'd have to find a suitable hiding place for these works, he grudgingly admitted. While he shouldn't have to punish his daughter for doing what she knew not to, it was clear she wasn't going to stop.

It was equally clear that, angry as he was over Elijah's suggestion, his method of punishing her wasn't working.

Klaus pressed his lips together, mounting a sketch pad on his easel. At first he started with a graphite pencil sketch, but that soon turned into nonsense. So he attempted pastel, but the array of soft colors infuriated him.

Though he disliked using gouache on simple paper, he switched back to paints. This time the strokes he made were smooth and precise, flowing with purpose. Portraits weren't conducive to his mood lately, so we went back to more familiar territory—cityscapes, humans living in the darkness of shadows unbeknownst to them, with considerable detail given to the almost imperceptible glimmers of light.

Klaus barely had time to sleep between his art and waking up to hear Hope pattering about. Her booted feet kept going past his door, clearly anxious to get in for one reason or another.

With utmost silence, Klaus redressed and crept up to the door. He paused there, resting his hand upon the knob, content for the moment to just listen. Hope's breathing carried through the wooden slab and hit his ears with nervous delicacy.

Klaus opened the door and watched her stumble. Hope righted herself with inhuman speed, narrowing her eyes as it appeared to dawn on her that she'd just become the butt of a joke.

But he was careful not to smile. Mildly he asked, "May I help you?"

His daughter straightened her back, her wild tangle of hair framing a deceptively sweet face. "I heard you tell the woman we were gonna do stuff today."

The flippant manner she deliberately utilized toward Caroline threatened to spark his ire. Klaus forcefully swallowed it, along with a sizable chunk of his pride, and said, "Did you, now." He made sure to shut the door firmly behind him, giving Hope a pointed look before starting down the hall.

To her credit she hurried after him. Her legs were long for her age, but she had yet to master her father's wide, purposeful strides. Within moments she was practically cantering just to keep up. "Where're we going?"

He caved to the smirk that promised to overtake his features. "Now that is an excellent question," mused Klaus aloud. "Where _would_ my daughter have the most fun?"

A small, eager gasp escaped her lips. Hope's feet danced impatiently. "The range! The range, Daddy! Daddy, _the range!_"

Some years ago that might have sank his heart ever so slightly with disappointment. "The range" was, in fact, a particular part of the bayou he took her to now and then to satiate either his or her thirst for bloodshed. It was isolated, practically abandoned, and the waters so murky that, when handled properly, bodies never surfaced nor were noticed. To this day their activities there earned him more than a few sharp scowls of disapproval from Hayley. It was no secret that, despite the severe lack of evidence, she still blamed him for Hope's current condition.

Well, there was no changing what was already done. Klaus truly meant to spend what time he possessed with his daughter.

They were going to the range.

* * *

><p><em>"<em>_Hope is missing."_

_Three simple words, yet Klaus had not wanted to hear them strung together since the christening of his daughter. Once upon a time he would have found that concept amusing. In fact, they really were words meant for Katerina Petrova, and suited her as beautifully as the pearls Elijah had deemed to string around her slender, white, deliciously breakable neck._

_But this had nothing to do with that she-devil. Instead it was another bane of his existence, one Klaus had never before desired yet now could not imagine his life without._

_So when he pinned his sister to the stone wall by her throat, it was nothing personal. Neither was the venom in his voice when he spat, "Where is she?"_

_Managing to glare despite the gasps for needed air, Rebekah choked through clenched teeth. "If I knew—Nik—she wouldn't be missing!"_

_Strands of her hair tangled in his fingers as he tightened his grip a barely perceptible touch. Still Rebekah met him with that defiant gaze that coursed through their blood, thicker than the bonds of any living family, including theirs. Her challenge warred with her concern—not for herself. Klaus knew his sister better than anybody. That shade of fear was entirely for her niece, and it surged far deeper than anything she felt for herself in that moment._

_Klaus released her and sped off before she could so much as suck in a breath._

_As he sought for a glimpse of wild, red-tinged hair or cunning ever-shifting hazel eyes, Klaus was forced to acknowledge the fear that poured into his veins, setting them alight with an indescribable pain that tightened fiercely around what was left of his heart. Could he really not reign for so much as three years before tragedy befell his only child? How inept and uncaring a father was he? If anything happened to her, how was he supposed to live with his wretched self? Only once had Klaus ever felt an urge to be human, but he knew if Hope was dead, that urge would become an all-consuming need—just as soon as he eviscerated the fools who were stupid enough to harm a hair on her head._

_Intrusive flashes of her cold, stiff body heightened his anxious search. He combed inside and outside the compound, through the French Quarter, calling her name with what must have sounded like rage yet tightened his throat with terror._

_Should he find anybody with their hands upon, near, or soaked with her blood, Klaus would ensure they lived for weeks, perhaps months or even years of agony before granting them the merciful release of death. By then their body parts would be scattered throughout the bayou, the Quarter, the church—depending on who dared hurt her. If all else failed, someone's head mounted high upon a pike had been a clear statement throughout the ages._

_Klaus continuously checked his phone, his anger growing with any true lack of updates. Elijah, Hayley, and Rebekah were all out looking just as he, yet there was nary a sign of Hope._

_How the bloody hell had his sister lost sight of the girl in the first place? She was six; hardly a master of stealth and ingenuity, no matter how much Klaus adored her._

_The hypocrisy of his misplaced ire didn't completely escape him._

_His search seemed to stretch into hours, though it couldn't have been more than half of one. At last he stumbled upon Hope, crashing through the bayou that had once been the desolate home of Hayley's ostracized pack. Abruptly he saw his daughter, back facing him with a strap of her summer dress broken. Her tiny frame crouched near the muddy brown waters with a calm that equally relieved and infuriated him._

_Hope turned before he reached her, a bright smile curving her lips at the sight of her father. She stood and hurried to him, apparently heedless of the panic she'd caused._

_ "__Daddy, I did it!"_

_Klaus wanted to scoop her up in his arms and hurry her home. Yet something stopped him. An odd light gleamed in her eyes, one that seemed savagely out of place on a little girl's features._

_ "__What did you do?" he inquired quietly._

_ "__I'm clean," she said proudly, showing off her hands. _Clean_ was debatable. Mud streaked her canary yellow shoes and her face, but it didn't take Klaus long to realize what she had washed off. "Nobody saw. Now I'm just like you and Mommy!"_

_How, he didn't know. Hope was supposed to be the key to _creating_ more hybrids, not able to defy the laws of magic and become one herself. But the hard edge in her gaze told no lies, and it would only be hours before Hope would show off her newfound shapeshifting abilities. At the tender age of six, with zero encouragement from her parents, she had activated her werewolf gene._

_Just hours short of her six birthday, Hope became a hybrid._

_And though at first it had pained Klaus to see his daughter set herself down the path he and Hayley had once strove to avoid, he made the firm decision to raise her as strong as she wanted to be. Over her mother, uncle, and aunt's objections, he had remained solid in his decision, and no amount of pleading or attempting to bribe Hope out of it had any effect._

_After all, who could halt such young, terrible ambition?_

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to those who show your continual support. I know things seem a bit slow for Klaroline, but just one more chapter before they share time together again. Hopefully all this is building up properly for the inevitable ending. Thanks for reading!  
><em>


	17. Chapter 17: Midnight Martinis

I have continually failed to acquire rights to The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or any of the characters.

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><p>Just minutes before midnight Caroline had become tired of waiting. Perhaps she could share <em>some<em> fault in not hearing from Klaus; it wasn't as though she'd offered up her new number. But that didn't make her any less irritated. What it _did_ do was light the fire beneath her to slip on gold heels, a similar-colored dress with shimmering threats woven in with delicacy, and put her hair up in a marvelously loose bun.

If she was going to remain in the city, she sure as hell was going to enjoy it. With or without its self-proclaimed king.

Whether or not his failure to show stung like a slap to the face.

This night out was a very different experience from Mardi Gras, yet still held energy reminiscent of the popular celebration. People of varying ages drifted in and out of bars, some pausing to bob their heads or feet along with the occasional street performer. Caroline drank it all in, thirsty for more of the culture Klaus had once spoken so reverently about.

While she appreciated it, somehow the atmosphere was lacking.

Determined to put such silly thoughts out of her mind, Caroline chose a bar with the most neon signs that wasn't a strip club. (She'd had quite enough of _that_ for now, thank-you-very-much.) Inside the air conditioning blasted her face as she strode through the door, threatening to cause more curls than intended to stray from its bindings. This time around, ordering a drink was a far cry easier—and the bartender, though a woman and therefore not Caroline's type—was more than happy to bat eyelashes and cast meaningful smiles all the same.

Once she had an appletini in hand, Caroline glanced around until her gaze met with another's. The all-too-familiar smile touched his lips, never leaving his eyes, before he raised a short glass of amber liquid in greeting.

Caroline strode over to him, taking the empty seat without asking.

Marcel's smile went down a notch. "I hope you're not here to accuse me of stalking you, baby vamp. I was here first."

Somehow his claim held tones that coursed much deeper than its surface meaning. Shaking her head, Caroline said, "I took your advice."

"Oh?"

She frowned slightly. "Nobody told me about… the mom. Before."

"The hybrid part?" Marcel asked almost absently, finishing his drink.

Caroline started. "She's a _hybrid?_" Then, before he could answer, she groaned and leaned back. "No, of course she is. What the hell, Klaus."

It made perfect sense. No wonder Hayley hadn't seemed to age. Caroline was angry with herself for not considering it before. But then, why would Klaus have turned her? What purpose was there, if he wasn't personally attached beyond the child they shared?

"It wasn't Klaus," Marcel said. He seemed taken aback by her outburst, but rapidly recovered. "Long story."

Caroline sipped her martini and stared.

After an elongated pause, Marcel sighed in resignation, motioning toward the bar for another drink. His eyes didn't meet hers as he said heavily, "You mentioned the cemetery, so you know about the witches. And since I'm _certain_ you got such a detailed version of events—" Caroline couldn't help but grin at his wry humor "—you also know that the witches killed Hayley right after Hope was born."

Her smile died. "No, I didn't," she said softly. How awful, she couldn't help but think. Regardless of any feelings she held toward Klaus and Hayley's… _courtship_, if she had to ascribe the least nauseating word she could think of off-hand, she couldn't imagine giving birth just to be murdered. Not even die _of_ childbirth, but at the hands of those who were intent on killing the very child you'd just kept within for so many months.

The story paused as a different bartender brought Marcel a refill. He thanked and tipped her, and waited until she was gone to continue. "Hope's apparently a true product of her parents. She's always had vampire and werewolf blood." He looked skeptically into his glass, as though searching for an imperfection of his whiskey. "How she ages is still a mystery to me."

It must have had something to do with her witch potential. But Caroline kept her mouth shut. Her and Élodie's talk had drifted well into the early morning. As she understood it, nobody but a couple select witches—including Élodie herself—knew Hope harbored untapped powers.

It was for the best, Élodie had told her, with clear warning in her brittle voice. Should anybody else find out what Hope was, she could be used against Klaus. Or worse, as a weapon in the hands of somebody even more awful.

As hard as it had been to point out that few were as ruthless as Klaus, Caroline had agreed to keep quiet. Why the old witch had chosen to tell her, she wasn't entirely sure. In fact, Caroline was pretty confident there had been reason behind it.

She just couldn't figure out what that could be.

Caroline must have been silent for a few beats too long, because Marcel's voice brought her back to the present with his dry commentary. "Please stop me if I'm boring you."

"No," she said quickly. Caroline took a longer drink of her martini, grateful that the bartender had mixed it just right: all apple flavor and no burn of vodka, though the way it was making her buzz already was proof enough it was in there. "Sorry, this is just all really weird to me. I mean, if you'd told me Hayley was gonna have Klaus's kid, I'd have laughed in your face. You being the general term," she added.

Marcel gave her an intrigued look. "Something tells me you girls have a history."

"Somewhat."

He conceded to her refusal to expound upon it. At the same time, he didn't go back to their previous topic of Hope and Hayley. Caroline wasn't sure if she wanted to. She'd learned quite a bit about the spoiled princess and her mother in such a short time.

Caroline had nearly finished her drink when Marcel asked casually, "So what's with you and Klaus?" She choked on her drink before shooting him a glare. He shrugged. "You're using me for information. I don't have the right to ask?"

He had a point. Caroline looked around nervously, half-expecting to see the self-appointed King pop up out of nowhere. But there was nobody of concern; just a couple vampires and a brooding werewolf nursing a beer.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I mean… he's tried to kill me. Twice. Maybe three times." Then she furrowed her brow. "Maybe more, for all I know."

"Ahh, so that's your type."

Either Marcel had indicated more refills or the bartenders were just that good. The one who had eye-humped Caroline earlier came by with new, full glasses. She hardly paid Marcel any mind, choosing instead to smile lingeringly at Caroline and unabashedly check out the curves of her golden dress.

It didn't escape Caroline that Marcel tipped her significantly less than the last. Weird.

"Attempts on my life are _not_ my type," she said firmly once the woman was out of earshot. Truth be told, she couldn't say she _had_ a type. The only real trait the men in her life had in common was equal parts confidence and vulnerability—even if the latter of Klaus's was buried deeper than an ocean grave.

Marcel leaned back in his seat. "I'll admit, I didn't think blondes were _his_ type. Aside from maybe Cami, but—"

"Who's Cami?" she asked skeptically.

He waved his hand. If he heard the sharpness of her tone, he deftly pretended not to. "A human girl I had a thing with for a while. I guess she was sort of Klaus's pseudo therapist-slash-friend-slash-who knows what." Bringing the drink to his lips, he smiled against the glass. "Looked an awful lot like you, in retrospect. Maybe Cami should have been flattered."

Caroline didn't like that she couldn't pinpoint his meaning. Instead she plucked a maraschino cherry from her appletini and ate it.

She knew she had no reason to be jealous. She'd probably had an equal number (okay, maybe a couple less) of some sort of romantic or sexual partner since she'd last seen Klaus. Logically, it made no sense for her these things to get under her skin.

Yet they did.

God, why couldn't she just fall for some nice guy who wasn't a psychopath? Okay, she lamented, she had once. But Matt was too human, too kind, too _normal_ to get all caught up in the supernatural world. He was probably still back in Mystic Falls, working as manager at the Grille, struggling to pay bills, and growing older with each passing year.

Maybe psycho- and semi-sociopaths were the only options left to her.

Determined to continue enjoying her night, Caroline chose to stay and talk with Marcel a bit longer. Once the conversation steered entirely away from Klaus, the air between them grew less tense. He made several recommendations of where to visit, where to shop, and what to see. Caroline made a note of everything that sounded interesting. After all, aside from the King, who better to ask than the man who had previously reigned? He understood New Orleans inside and out, down to the secret tunnels. Some abandoned, ruined place he called The Garden promised a look into morbid supernatural history, if she was so inclined.

By the time the bar called closing, Caroline was more than tipsy. She wobbled slightly on her heels, laughing at herself on the sidewalk where a few humans lingered for a smoke.

"Wow," she sputtered, mostly to herself. "Twenty years practicing in heels and martinis still do me in. Figures!"

Marcel remained a safe arm's length away from her, watching her with some form of amusement. "How old did you say you were, again?"

"Hey. Rude," she called out, pointing at him. "But yes, it means I started wearing heels when I was seven. Ohh, Mom was _so_ disappointed I couldn't be more practical! Like Elena, or _Bonnie_."

Marcel sighed. "You going to make it home, baby vamp?"

She squinted at him. "Why, you wanna walk me?"

"Like I said before, I like my head where it is. And if Klaus happens to be there, I don't want to find out which orifice he'll put his fist first if he gets the wrong idea."

Klaus.

She couldn't sober up that fast, but awareness pierced her peaceful buzz. Sharply Caroline fumbled for her phone, checking the time. One fifty AM. Mumbling a vague goodbye, she clacked her way back to her apartment. No messages of course, why would there be? Damn it, she should have given him her number, or taken his, or _something._

Caroline hated the panic that swelled in her throat.

She dropped her keys at the front door. Cursing, Caroline stooped to retrieve them, willing her hands to still as she jammed the key into the lock and turned. It wasn't like being home would be any better, she reasoned as she walked up the stairs.

And she stopped at the final flight before her room, staring in disbelief. No, Caroline thought, there was _no_ reason for Klaus to be sitting at the top step, his elbows on his knees, watching her with an unreadable expression.

As she slowly ascended Klaus stood, his normally stormy eyes calm like the eye of a hurricane.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Seriously couldn't resist another scene with Marcel. Thanks for everyone who has followed patiently. I hope you all have happy holidays. Due to holidays, pregnancy, Dragon Age, and work, this will be taking a brief hiatus; as in, no quick updates in the next few days. Sorry for the trouble. Thanks again to those who read and review! Happy Thanksgiving to those in the USA! And Happy November Endings to the rest of the world._


	18. Chapter 18: Twilight Thrills

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any characters within, or Caroline's poor couch.

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><p>The gold she wore only enhanced her radiance. Stray curls framed her face in such a manner that Klaus could not say with confidence whether it had fallen or been styled that way intentionally. All he knew was that each time he saw her she only became more lovely—even with wary trepidation in her eyes.<p>

As she reached the top step, Klaus reached out to trace one of those curly locks, never breaking their gaze. Though he had shown up in the depths of an indescribable high of both blood and the sheer violent pleasure his time with Hope had bestowed upon him, realization of the late hour and Caroline's absence had sobered him fairly quickly.

So he'd waited. Certainly, smashing the lock and entering had crossed his mind. He'd more or less done the same just a few days ago.

Perhaps it was his time with his daughter that had put him in a more generous mood.

"Have a good night out, love?" he asked quietly.

Caroline nodded. Oddly, she seemed reluctant to expound upon her adventures. Instead she swept past him and to her apartment door, unlocking it with a jangle that wasn't entirely due to a cluttered keychain. Her breathing was only a touch off. But when she looked at him, her expression was familiar again; cool, confident, like she had never been fazed.

"You coming in?"

He didn't need to be asked twice. And he certainly wasn't _quite_ so polite that he could wait until she stepped fully over the threshold before capturing that sweet, biting mouth with his own.

Despite her initial muffled protest—he suspected from habit more than anything—Caroline eagerly kissed him back. Her tongue was laced with apple and vodka.

Klaus loathed that it gave him second thoughts. Since when did he follow human morality, particularly when their so-called ethics shifted between centuries and even decades? Even as a child, he'd understood that most women were subservient mothers, breeders, and homemakers; all three, should the woman in question be bred obediently enough.

Of course, he thought with a smirk against her lips, Caroline wasn't most women. Even by current standards.

Her hands were hot against his flesh, sliding unabashedly up his shirt until her fingers coiled around the leather straps of his dual necklaces. She used the slight leverage to pull him deeper into the kiss, her free hand raking thin lines down his chest.

Almost absently, Klaus kicked the door shut beside them. She broke the contact to give him a reproachful look, but he was having none of it. Instead he reached behind her to unzip the back of her shimmering dress. In truth, he had the mind to tear it off, but part of him wanted to see her wear it again.

Besides, as he'd long since discovered, he could afford the occasional act of kindness without compromising who he was. Caroline was worth that much.

Though she was the one to throw him against the wall, Caroline was also the one to gasp between heavy kisses, "Wait… we need to talk."

Klaus slid the straps of her dress down her shoulders, desire heating a white flame within him as he exposed the curve of her breasts. "Now?" he growled impatiently. He began a trail of kisses from throat to collarbone. Delicate cream-colored lace smiled up at him, teasing with what it both flaunted and hid from him.

Caroline's breath hitched as he pulled her dress completely down, allowing it to trickle to the floor like a golden pool. He took his time to appreciate her with his hands, tracing the soft skin encasing tangible muscle along her waistline. Gentle and firm, as though her personality embedded into every inch of her body.

He took her hesitation to answer as a response. Taking advantage of his inhuman speed, Klaus shoved her toward the couch and used his weight to push her into it. The back of her knees caught the armrest and she toppled, still clutching him close. Blue eyes burned fiercely up at him, recognizing his plot and incentivized to enact revenge. The fire in her gaze reignited the rush of his earlier blood high on a wholly different level.

As Klaus crawled atop her, his jaw aching with the need to sink his venomous teeth into her tender flesh, Caroline made her move. Flashing him a devious grin, she loosened her fingers from his necklace and ripped his short completely off.

In his anger, Klaus crushed her lips with his. He straddled her, one leg on the floor to support his weight, and hiked her left leg over his shoulder. When he retaliated by tearing her panties along the seam, Caroline emitted a nonverbal protest. Klaus hardly heard her, tracing the tips of his fingers along the slippery wetness between her thighs. That she was so willing and ready for him nearly drove him to just take her with primal abandon.

Somehow, he restrained himself to simple light petting.

Caroline whimpered as he teased the heated flesh encasing her clit. "Are you kidding me?" she said with breathless anticipation. "That was my only matching pair."

With a growl, Klaus pushed two fingers into her, enjoying her jolt in response as she clenched around him. Slick and delectably warm. He didn't move his hand, simply began tapping an unsung rhythm with his fingers until she expelled an appreciative moan to tell him he'd found the perfect spot.

"And here I was so considerate of your dress, love," he said harshly near her ear. She shuddered and clenched around his fingers again, reminding him painfully of how wonderful it would feel once his cock was fully inside her. "You couldn't even extend me the same courtesy."

Arching her back beneath him, Caroline only answered with a deep moan. She dug her nails into his chest, drawing blood in her frenzied pleasure as she writhed beneath him. Klaus felt himself harden to complete fullness. _Beautiful,_ he admired as animal lust boiled in his veins. Every bit of her was so familiar, yet so new in the years that had passed.

She unbuttoned his jeans with bloodied fingers. The heady smell of copper and her arousal threatened to push him over the edge again. Caroline didn't bother to pull down his pants before wrapping her fingers around his swollen cock, her touch searing and inviting and _achingly_ needing. Each stroke encouraged him to intensify the tempo he had inside of her, and her eyes flew open with the most incredible expression of pleasure as he rubbed his thumb against her clit, stimulating her inside and out.

"Klaus," she gasped, her grip on him faltering. "Wait…"

_No._

With refocused fervor, Klaus kept at it, applying pressure to the bundle of nerves throbbing beneath his thumb. It hardly took much more before Caroline cried out, clenching her hand around his cock and digging her nails into his bicep until the skin broke. Her muscles contracted around his fingers, a warm gush of fluid flowing from her and into his palm.

Her eyes darkened with passion, and Caroline pressed into his hand. Even if she hadn't silently asked, Klaus didn't think he could stop. He intended to have her in every sense of the word.

It was difficult not to come with her the second time, but Klaus held back. Caroline couldn't. She shouted his name as her next orgasm drenched his hand, and then the next, until it seemed as though her contracting pleasures were running continuously instead of one at a time.

He enjoyed her rocking orgasms with every fiber of his being. More than bloodshed, more than violence, _this_ was the ultimate primal satisfaction that nothing else could fulfill.

And with the only woman that had ever sparked anything resembling emotional fondness within him.

At last he had mercy on her and stopped. She lay beneath him, her eyes transfixed upon his face. Klaus held her gaze, sharing a slow, appreciative smile with her before he brought his slick hand to his mouth and licked the taste of her off. Caroline's breathing increased slightly, and then she lunged up, grabbing his hand and sucking one of his fingers into her mouth.

Then they were kissing again, but she was positively ferocious. Nipping at his lip, aggressively dancing her tongue against his, demanding more of his attention. All the while her hand snaked down to his still-throbbing cock and began to rub him again.

Several images of what he wanted to do flashed through his mind in that moment. But to Klaus's surprise, Caroline seemed completely in tune. She released him, urging him up so she could peel his pants down. Klaus aided her, removing his shoes and socks while kicking his jeans and underwear out of the way. With a pleased grin, she kneeled on the cushions and swallowed his cock. And it. Was. Exquisite.

Klaus groaned at the heat of her mouth, immediately tangling his fingers deep into her mussed tresses, snapping the hair tie as it got in his way. If she cared she was too busy to voice it, firmly pressing her tongue along the base of his cock. She rubbed the base with her hand, and though Klaus was absolutely enthralled by her perverse pleasure in taking control he was aware enough to realize she was also using that hand to prevent him from shoving her down too deep, too fast.

His clever girl.

The combination of her lips, tongue, and hand tested his limits. There was something perfectly dirty about watching her pleasure him, a taboo as old as time that only flooded him with worse urges. Despite their first and only other time, this was a whole new first for them, and the way her eyes peered up at him and the manner she left off him just long enough to smile coyly made Klaus dig his fingers into her scalp so hard it _had_ to have hurt.

If anything, Caroline found pleasure in the pain. She moaned, the sound reverberating around him until he couldn't stand it any longer.

Klaus forced her free of him, heedless of her protests. He stood from the couch, turning her so that she was clutching the back cushions. Her backside was utterly vulnerable, and he took full advantage of it by entering her fully.

The initial penetration was his favorite sensation. Klaus took the time to revel in it, with her muscles clenching insistently around him and arousal so strong it dripped from her even as he began to thrust. He clutched her by her hips, pulling her back to him with each furious thrust.

Caroline cried out and moaned. The fabric of the couch tore as she dug her fingers in deeper and deeper. She glanced back at him, flaxen hair falling in her eyes, and Klaus took the opportunity to lean forward and tilt her chin back with one hand so their lips could meet again. She reached up and twined her fingers in his hair, tugging until he complied with her silent demand and drove into her harder. Skin slick with sweat slipped as they moved, her in response to his movements, he in a near-desperate attempt to feel her come while he remained inside of her.

"Klaus, please," she gasped, arching her back away from him even as she pressed back. She caught his necklaces after a couple failed attempts, pulling him forward until her breath washed over his cheek. "I'm so close…."

Well, who was he to deny her that?

Klaus stopped, silencing her outraged cry when he turned her around, yanking her hips down to his slick cock and pressing back into her. The front view was ten times as exhilarating, especially when she floundered for something to hold on to and had to settle for his arms. The position must have been so awkward, but she didn't request for a change and he didn't care to.

He knew he'd have to start several steps back to bring her to orgasm, but the work was more than worth it. Klaus picked up right where he left off, the slippery sounds of her arousal a wondrous cadence to his ears. He groaned as he felt his own release within reach. It took serious effort to remind himself not yet, not _just_ yet.

Caroline made it so much more difficult, her breasts jiggling within the confines of her bra, her ecstatic moans driving his desire to near madness. Klaus snatched her hand, urging her to touch herself as he thrust. She eagerly complied, and soon her cries reached a fevered pitch.

Then.

Then that glorious sensation as she trembled around him, clenching tight against his cock as the slippery evidence of her orgasm trickled out. Klaus at last allowed his momentum to reach its peak, and he came shortly after her, unable to keep himself from hoarsely calling out her name.

When they did separate and relax, it was upon the now-filthy couch. Klaus had no compunctions resting there, and she seemed too wrapped up in his afterglow embrace to argue even if she'd wanted.

For a time they simply lay there, with Klaus tracing the upper curve of her breast. Caroline's breath hitched now and then if he strayed close to her clothed nipple, and he couldn't suppress the satisfied smirk that overcame his mouth.

Her first words were, "I can't believe you ruined my underwear and left my bra alone."

Klaus scoffed aloud. "I had other items of importance on my mind."

She swatted at his head, missing. "That's _not_ an item!"

"Figure of speech, love." He turned her head so she was looking at him, those intriguing blue eyes so full of fight and fire. "Next time I'll be sure to take my time.

She cocked a fine eyebrow. "Tired?" she asked in a suggestive challenge.

Almost immediately he felt his cock begin to swell in response. She appeared positively delighted to feel it pressing against her backside.

In a short growl, Klaus said, "You made me wait ten years, Caroline. Don't think you're finished yet."

* * *

><p>Sunlight slanted through the slats of cheap shades, annoying him with their insistent warmth against his eyelids. Klaus turned over to escape them, but bumped into another warm body. He opened his eyes, smiling smugly at what he found.<p>

Sleeping over hadn't been the plan, but damn if he regretted it.

White sheets hardly covered Caroline's sleeping form, and from her current pose her front was entirely exposed to him. Tantalized by the pinkness of her nipples, Klaus leaned over to caress one with his tongue, pleased when it hardened rapidly against his touch.

A half-annoyed, half-pleased hum escaped her lips as she shifted. Klaus pressed forward, taking it entirely in his mouth and beginning to suck.

Caroline's eyes flew open then, and her expression went from startled to amused, vaguely annoyed, and very hungry. "Morning," she murmured.

Klaus reluctantly released her, shifting to rest back against the pillows. "No worries, love. I haven't killed you in your sleep."

She snorted in a very unladylike fashion. "If I was worried about that, I'd have staked you first."

"Wouldn't kill me," he replied simply.

"Duh. But it'd give me time to run."

Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she sat up and began to crawl out of bed. Klaus watched in bemusement before he sat up as well. Not so reluctantly, either. Were he human, this atrocious mattress would have done an irreparable number on his back.

"Running off so soon, love?" he asked as she headed toward her walk-in closet.

She shot him an exasperated look. "It's _my_ house," she pointed out. "I'm just getting a robe."

"Shame. You look delightful as you are."

Her eyes crinkled in a sly smile. "Which is exactly why I'm getting dressed. I need coffee first."

"Such a human ritual," he muttered. Still he decided to follow suit, recovering his boxer briefs and jeans before joining her unfortunately robed self in the kitchen.

"You want some?" she asked as she rummaged through her cabinets. Klaus nodded an affirmative when she afforded him a glance. He settled on the couch, unable to keep the stirrings of arousal from starting up again when he smelled evidence of their activities the night before. Fun as it had been, he knew he'd have to take her in his bed next. The mere thought immensely satisfied the possessive side of him.

"Oh, hey," she asked as she started brewing the coffee. "I've been meaning to ask. Have you ever thought about sending Hope away for a while?"

All thoughts of sex evaporated. Klaus struggled to quell the rising fury her supposedly innocuous question had incurred, but his voice was scathing as he demanded, "And just why would I do that?"

From the stunned way she looked at him, it was clear to him that Caroline had just opened a door she hadn't expected to bring down such raging consequences.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Whoo, smut! Oooh, tension. My apologies for the long wait between chapters. The past couple weeks were a little more hectic than anticipated, and quite frankly, fanfiction was not high on my priority list. Hopefully the content of this chapter makes up for the tardiness at least a little bit. Updates will continue to be a bit sporadic, unfortunately, but I'll get them out as best I can._

_As always, I am open for constructive criticism._


	19. Chapter 19: The Threads Fray

I don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, the city of New Orleans, or the beautiful creation that is coffee.

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><p>The aroma of brewing coffee that had moments before smelled entirely divine now churned Caroline's stomach. Just from the look on his face, the gravelly texture of his tone, she knew immediately her attempt at tact had failed. Granted, it had never been her strong suit, but the situation was already so fraught with negative emotion that she should have bid her time and approached it another way.<p>

Well… crap. Too late now.

She raised her hands, hoping her expression was suitably placating. "Okay, hold on. It's not how you're taking it."

Klaus's eyes warned of impending danger, like a tsunami looming within sight of a white sandy beach. "Please, love, tell me how I'm _taking it._"

Though he wasn't advancing on her, his stance was tense and ominous. Predatory. Not in any remotely sexy way, either, and _god_ why was she even thinking that at a time like this?

Caroline made a mental note to scold herself later. Aloud she said, "I only _meant_ that it seems… weird… that you talked so much of traveling and seeing the world. And it doesn't seem like she has."

Okay, it was sort of a lie, but she'd definitely gotten a little too close to true rage just a few moments ago. There was nothing to be won by pissing him off further.

Her answer was met with his usual skepticism. "And what makes you say so?"

_That_, at least, was an easy answer. Caroline folded her arms beneath her breasts. "I saw her room. Plenty of dolls from around the world, but nothing she could play with. I don't care _what_ kind of princess she thinks she is. No kid would just pick those over something they could actually use."

For a moment Klaus looked as though he was going to snap and turn her apartment inside-out in a fit of rage. Then, to her relief, some of the aggravation in his shoulders dissipated. "Gifts from Elijah," he said shortly. "I haven't the time to get around as much."

Caroline allowed herself a moment to breathe normally. "Because of Hope?"

"Royal duties, love," he said, a hint of mockery in his voice.

Right. Caroline briefly considered backtracking to the previous conversation, but Klaus beat her to it.

"Did my brother put you up to this?"

The bubbling of the coffee pot slowed to a gradual halt. Caroline busied making herself a cup, and she couldn't hide a frown from him. "I haven't even seen him since last night. Besides, the only notable vampire I've talked to was Marcel." The edge of her voice sharpened. "Why, you think I can't form a thought on my own? Or," she realized aloud, turning to face her lover's deliberately blank expression, "something else happened. Didn't it?"

It took her a few moments of watching him stare at her expectantly while she sipped her brew before she recognized what she wanted. Coolly, she said, "Pour your own cup. Once I take up waitressing at the Waffle House, I'll let you know."

Klaus's eyes narrowed to treacherous slits. Yet he didn't argue, apparently content to jostle her bodily while he looked for a spare mug. Caroline brought the coffee to her lips, rolling her eyes when his back was turned.

Men. _Honestly._

Once their petty spat was over, Caroline leaned against the nearest counter and tried again. "Why would Elijah have tried talking to me?"

He didn't deign to join her, instead ambling back to the living room where he found an overstuffed chair to lounge in. Caroline tried to hold on to her suspicion, but admittedly he made it difficult. Just by existing there in her apartment, shirtless, the flow of his tattoo elegantly following the curve of pectoral muscle. She had to divert her eyes to a point just beyond his head so she could keep her brain off the predictable tracks of the Smut Train.

Klaus's tone was indifferent, but the intensity of his eyes gave him away. "My brother happens to disagree with my childrearing."

No, it wasn't just that. He was too laconic; too dismissive. Unease filed Caroline's skepticism to a fine point. "And why would he do that?"

"My family is no concern of yours."

The chill of his voice only inspired anger. Caroline straightened her back, setting her mug on the counter in case she had to move quickly. "We've both already made it my concern."

He sneered. "Then _un_make it, sweetheart."

The pet name did not placate her. She didn't think it was meant to. "Look," she said firmly. The gears in her head churned furiously in Fix-It mode. "I'm swallowing my pride here, so listen _very_ carefully. I'm sorry for breaching this _clearly_ sensitive topic. Honestly, I figured you'd be more relaxed this morning, so—"

Far, far too late did she realize her mistake. She saw Klaus move, his inhuman speed not too quick for her vampire sights, but he had the advantages of surprise, strength, and an unfair head start. Caroline's words were literally choked off as he snatched her by the throat and slammed her into the nearest wall, just outside the kitchen. His grip was angry and tight and painful and deadly _serious_. His other hand was empty, the coffee cup uncaringly spilled on the living room carpet. The smell hit Caroline's nostrils with a similar sick rush.

"Is that was this all was?" Klaus snarled. For a brief instant the irises of his eyes flashed gold, sending a thrill of terror through Caroline. It sparked an utterly inappropriate lust inside of her. Push and pull, snap and bite—wasn't that always what their relationship had been? "Bedding me in an act of duplicity? I do. Not. Care. For these conspiracies!"

Resentment surged through Caroline. Much she could forgive, or at least acknowledge as an inherent part of him that a thousand years hadn't changed, particularly if his actions were in the name of his daughter. But to accuse her of wrongdoing when she'd done nothing of the sort quickly killed her generosity.

Words were difficult to utter with the iron grip around her esophagus, but she managed to speak—and harshly. "So the theory is, I slept with you to conspire against you? Do you really think that low of me?"

It was a repeat of the same question he'd thrown at her, on her birthday deathbed more than a decade ago. Only the roles were reversed.

Klaus must have remembered as well. And he must still have possessed a petulant streak, because his response was a condescending, "Yes."

Still absolutely petulant, but he also knew when to back down. It was then he dropped her, leaving her gasping for air as her vampire senses healed the bruising deep within her neck. Caroline backed up, rubbing her throat and glaring daggers at him. Klaus met her stare, darkness akin to clouds puffed full of rain and lightning swirling in his eyes.

Frigidly, Caroline said, "Well, too damn bad for you. I happened to enjoy it, and I did it because I _wanted_ to. So you'll have to fulfill your conspiracy fantasies somewhere else."

"You hardly make a convincing case for yourself," said Klaus, his voice hard like stone.

"I shouldn't have to," she snapped. "I wouldn't even have gotten involved in any of this if it wasn't for your stupid kingdom rules!"

"Your defense is that this is entirely my fault?"

"No, you idiot, my defense is that I _fucking like you!_"

That stopped both of them cold. Klaus's expression vacillated amongst a wide array of emotions, and Caroline felt strangely lightheaded. It wasn't a big deal, she insisted to herself. It wasn't like she'd made some ground-splitting proclamation.

Except, in a way, she had.

Unspoken tension plucked the air between them like the out-of-tune strings on a violin. With a moment of clarity Caroline realized they were still staring at each other, and she turned her head slightly to break the gaze.

In the space of a blink Klaus was in front of her, turning her head back to him insistently. She inhaled sharply, desperately wanting to both close and increase the distance between them. Her body thrummed with the agonizing need to just do _something_.

"I didn't—"

"You did," he interrupted her. Something oddly like hurt flashed across his face just then. "The worst part is, I want to believe it."

She suppressed a frightened shiver. "You still think I'm lying."

"I don't know," he admitted in subdued tones she'd never heard fall from his mouth.

It hurt to hear. But it was just another part of him that she had to accept, in a way. Klaus's paranoia knew no bounds, and it shouldn't have come as a surprise that it would turn on her.

Even if he did care for her as deeply as she suspected.

"I think you should go," said Caroline softly.

Klaus looked as though he wanted to argue. Instead his lips compressed in hard resignation. Without another word he found his socks and shoes, not casting her so much as a glance as he put them on. He moved with such _human_ slowness, and it made Caroline's heart ache. She almost asked him to stay.

Instead she watched him walk out. Once she was certain he was gone, she finally sank to the floor and put her head on her knees, wishing she could cry. No tears came. Just a dull, heavy sadness, and the knowledge that she was in way over her head.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Is it awful that this chapter was fun to write? I don't know what it is about the dysfunction between these two, but I've always enjoyed it. I wrote this shortly after watching YouTube clips of the two, and in particular, the moment when Klaus asks if she needs comfort after Caroline realizes she's also a "bad person," only to tell her to find some less "terrible" company, struck me. Much as I love these two, I don't think they can have a healthy relationship by human standards. I do, however, think that if anybody could make it work, it would be Caroline and eventually Klaus through her persistence. Even now, caught up on both TO and TVD, I can still see the openings for these two to come together someday (hopefully in either of the series' runs)._

_And I know in Crystalline Confession I said that Confectionery Klaus would get the next update... unfortunately, I'm a little stuck on transitioning scenes/ideas on that one, so this got the attention. Oops!_

_Sorry, just rambling a little this time. Thanks for reading!_


	20. Chapter 20: Blood & Benefits

I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or Klaus's unbelievable tempers.

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><p>In the end, after a long hunt that gradually cooled his head, Klaus found he couldn't be angry with Caroline. Retrospect was a prejudiced wench, and in this case had taken her sweet time in behaving in a helpful manner.<p>

He still couldn't believe how much her asking him to leave _hurt_.

It was completely outrageous, that he could be wounded by a baby vampire. The only rejection that had come even close had been by, of course, Caroline a decade past. When she had told him that he held no place in her future fantasies, the comment had flayed him down to the bone, and even he had been unable to mask his pain. It had been expected then, and it was the same now.

Though she was a vampire, there was still so much of her that was intricately human. And with her stubborn attitude and headstrong conviction, he knew a thousand years wouldn't change that. For a baby vampire, she held emotional strength over any other immortal's head. Ten years hadn't changed it. A thousand wouldn't. She would be this way for eternity.

So _why_ had he allowed his emotions to wrap so grotesquely around her? There was too much of himself he had made vulnerable to her in ways he'd never granted anyone else, not even Elijah or Rebekah. Klaus was disgusted with himself for being such a fool about it.

But he couldn't stop.

And there was the problem. Even when he'd thought her lost to him for the eternity he'd promised her, Klaus had never found a suitable replacement. Hell, he'd never been so entranced in the centuries _before_ meeting her. What the hell was another of his lifetimes supposed to bring him?

Certainly not another Caroline. Not even close.

How the bloody hell was he supposed to make up for that scene in her apartment this morning?

Klaus stormed into his compound, still licking fresh blood from his lips. It didn't take him long to find his brother, and the scene he found only brought all of his earlier suspicions crashing down around him like a tidal wave. For a man who insisted he wasn't attempting to take Klaus's family away from him, he looked awfully cozy on the gigantic easy chair with Hope in his lap, reading her a novel that was obviously too old for her comprehension skill. Yet she listened with rapture, taken by her uncle's smooth diction.

In a flash Klaus was in front of them, the book in his hand. Elijah looked up at him warily, and Hope cried out.

"Daddy, I was _listening_ to that!"

"Hope, go find your mother," he snarled, not taking his eyes off his traitorous brother.

As always, his daughter's defiance shone through. "She's in the _show-er_," she said, emphasizing the syllables with grating unnecessary need.

He broke eye contact with Elijah to glare at her. "Then go to your room."

"But I didn't even _do_ anything—"

"_I said go to your bloody room!_"

"Niklaus," Elijah said quietly. Threateningly.

But Hope was finally obeying, looking close to frustrated tears as she stomped out of the common area and down the hall. Klaus tossed the worn leather book into his brother's lap, furious when Elijah deftly caught it before it hit any delicate parts.

"When did you talk to her?" Klaus demanded, rage boiling just beneath his throat.

Elijah had the good grace to appear puzzled. "Hayley or Rebekah?"

Klaus paused. "So you heard from Rebekah."

An ever-weary sigh fell from Elijah's lips. "Yes. Though I now suppose neither is who you meant."

They both stared at each other, each willing the other to budge first. Though Elijah's patience was infinitely stronger, he also tended to pick and choose his battles with more frequency.

Slowly, calmly, Elijah said, "I have not spoken to your lady friend before or since I met her yesterday, Niklaus."

"Really," he sneered. "I suppose she just came up with the 'idea' for me to send _my_ daughter off with to parts unknown without any outside influence?"

Elijah's mouth twitched. "I wouldn't say as such. Do you not find it troublesome that she _did_ come up with it on her own?"

His question hit far too close to the mark. Face contorted with fury, Klaus whipped away from his elder brother. His words came out in a fierce hiss. "I will not tolerate any further attempts to separate me from Hope. The next who tries will meet the pointy end of whichever stake causes them to sleep the longest."

Without allowing his brother to reply, he stormed out.

It was too close of a coincidence to be unrelated, yet Klaus couldn't pinpoint why it felt off. The easiest answer was that Elijah had compelled the baby vampire into cajoling Klaus into sending his daughter off, but his brother wasn't so deceptive as to hide his actions once confronted. Not when it came to family, at least. Elijah's damnable streak of pride in his honesty held him back from too much conniving.

But then what the bloody hell was going on? On the less-yet-more likely chance both Caroline and Elijah were being truthful, what else was going on behind the scenes?

Klaus suspected the betrayal ran deeper than family or affectionate ties.

When he came close to Hope's room, he his steps began to falter. He briefly considered going in to speak with her, but found himself storming past the door. He had nothing to say, and still could not find it within him to speak to her of Elijah's belligerent betrayal.

_Yes, this is all to protect her from Uncle Elijah,_ a part of his conscience mocked. _Certainly it has nothing to do with losing it in front of her yet again and having no apology for it._

With a silent snarl for the voice to silence itself, Klaus bound down the stairs and toward the front door.

He'd hardly touched the knob before somebody knocked. It took everything he had to open the door carefully, without ripping it from its hinges.

He scowled at the visitor. "I don't have time for you."

Rebekah's smile dropped faster than a body from a third story window. "Nice to see you as well, Nik," she said flatly. Then, without waiting for an invitation, she glided past her brother and into the mansion. A large brand new Italian bag hung sideways across her body, bulging with what could only be gifts for her niece. Even in his mood, Klaus found it in himself to be pleased that the love for his daughter brimmed over from his siblings.

"No need to worry," said Rebekah loftily. "I wanted to see Hope first, anyway."

"She's in her room," Klaus said.

That made her pause and turn to face him. "What for this time?"

If anybody was attached to Hope as much as her parents, it was the woman who had sheltered and raised her for three years on the run. At the same time, Rebekah was not blind to how her niece had grown up. More than anyone else in the house, she tended to agree with Klaus that, while Hope could be a wonderful girl and everyone had much love to give her, she was also an impertinent handful.

Rather than answer—or because he didn't have a proper answer, more like—Klaus turned away from the open door and frosted his voice over. "I assume you're also here to tell me to send her away."

For a moment Rebekah looked genuinely surprised. She rapidly hid it. "And why would I do that?"

"It seems to be the theme lately," sneered Klaus.

With a roll of her eyes, Rebekah rested a hand upon her hip and tossed her hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head. "Nobody informed me of a theme, or I'd have dressed differently," she said wryly.

Klaus allowed himself a dry smirk. "Color me honestly surprised that Elijah didn't tell you, if what you say is true."

Rebekah sighed loudly. She looked toward the heavens, as though praying for strength to help her deal with her paranoid brother. "If I was in on it," she said with strained patience, "I would know everything, pretend to be on your side, and whisk Hope away the first chance I had." Then his blonde sibling added sardonically, "Whoops. Looks like I just gave my whole plan away. Sorry, Nik. Guess you're stuck with your daughter."

Though her tone grated on his nerves, Klaus felt himself relax a fraction. If nothing else, at least _someone_ was clearly being truthful—_and_ wasn't trying to coerce his only child away from him.

Rebekah reluctantly took the bag from her shoulder to rest it upon a nearby foyer table topped with polished marble. She stared at Klaus expectantly then, when he said nothing, remarked tensely, "So are you going to fill me in?"

Though part of him wanted nothing more than to be out of that house all over again, Klaus also recognized the benefit of having Rebekah on his side. So he began explaining, including Caroline's abrupt arrival in New Orleans. He'd hoped to just briefly pass that off, but it was clear Rebekah's attention was equally divided between the brothers' quarrel and the fact Klaus was regularly seeing a familiar face from Mystic Falls.

Once he finished, Rebekah put on her shrewd face. With an almost crafty tone, she said, "I can see Elijah compelling the baby vampire. It makes more sense than her just coming up with that solution on her own."

Klaus agreed, but he kept his expression impassive.

"But it also doesn't make sense for Elijah to lie about it."

That she'd reached the same conclusion as him was hardly helpful in this instance. "Then the implication is that something larger is at work here."

"It's been a while since we had enemies," Rebekah conceded carefully. "But… Nik, it's _possible_ they both just feel that way."

"Caroline wouldn't just tell me to rid myself of my only child," snapped Klaus. Funny, he thought distantly, how he could accuse the only woman he truly respected of doing just that to her face, yet he jumped to her defense behind her back. At least he'd never claimed not to be a difficult man.

Rebekah just stared at him. "No," she finally said. "I'm not crazy about her, myself, but she's too much of a soft heart for that."

Though the situation seemed dire, Klaus couldn't resist mocking her. "It's hard to imagine you disliking her, dear sister. You two could pass for siblings almost as well as you and I."

Rebekah grimaced. "That just makes your _thing_ for her creepy, Nik."

None of this made sense, thought Klaus in frustration. The only logical conclusion from there was that somebody else was pulling strings behind the scenes. And that put his daughter directly in the line of fire, if such was the case. Strong as she was, the resilient hybrid that she was, Klaus held the horrid gut feeling that Hope took more after her mother's lifespan than his own. She could be hurt—and she was not truly immortal.

If one was to target her, her life was in danger. His own mother had tried. And failed, of course, but the attempt was more than enough to tell others that it was wholly possible.

Rebekah seemed to be having the same thoughts as him because she lowered her voice. "I'm going to talk to Elijah. See if there's any weird magic involved."

"I'll probe at my witches," Klaus said grimly.

Rebekah opened her mouth to speak and then paused. She looked behind him, over his shoulder, and her eyebrows shot up. "I think you have other issues to attend to first."

In a flash, she was gone before Klaus began to turn.

There, in the threshold, was Caroline. And her expression was anything but pleased.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Currently, I'm debating whether to end this story as I originally intended-without exploring too much of Hope's side of things beyond what I largely already covered-or if I'm going to extend it to do just that. It would still primarily focus on Klaus and Caroline, but given how strong of a presence Hope is in Klaus's life, it's really hard to brush off these things that happen/could happen. So either this story may double, or may end soon (as in, within 2-5 chapters). So far I'm leaning toward the latter, but we'll see.  
><em>

_If it does end soon, thank you in advance for all your support, everyone. This has been such a fun thing for me to do again, and I've had so much fun reading everyone's reaction to this little "what-if" mini-story._


	21. Chapter 21: Betrayal

I don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, or Alexandra Forrest (or Fatal Attraction, for that matter).

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><p>Technically, the correct thing to do would have been to allow Klaus to acknowledge her presence before speaking. Caroline was an expert in deflecting and ignoring if it came down to it, and therefore a prime contender when it came to a game of patience. And against Klaus, such a game was hardly even worth the effort on her end. By all rights, she ought to be crowned the winner just by thinking of it; that was how damn good she was.<p>

But she. Was. Pissed.

"So you can say I wouldn't ever do something as awful as deliberately split you from your kid to _Rebekah,_ but when I try to explain myself you _pin me to the wall?_" she ended up shouting.

Klaus started toward her, his expression tense. "Caroline—"

"No! _Screw_ you!" Caroline stamped her foot on the hardwood floor before her, heat blazing in her face so fiercely that she almost became convinced she could shoot fire from her eyes. Or from her mouth. Burn Klaus to a crisp like she was a dragon; _that_ would show him. "I have to fix that dent myself, you asshole! You put a _hole_ in my kitchen! Oh, and that mug? _Thanks for breaking it!_ Not mine, either!" She threw her arms apart as she crossed the threshold completely, noting his befuddled expression as he appeared to war with wary tension, confusion, and choking amusement all at once. It raised her ire even further. "I haven't been around for a thousand years, thank-you-very-much, and I spent my spare cash on college. So you know who's going to fix my apartment? _You!_ Because if you don't, I will go crazy ex on your tapestries and princess canopies and all your other high kingdom crap. Ohh, you think Alexandra Forrest was a force to be reckoned with? I will ruin—your—life!"

Klaus said nothing, standing so strangely still in the aftermath of her rant. Caroline felt some of her hot anger subside, but she had by no means cooled off.

"Well?" she demanded when he continued to stare at her. "Don't you have anything to say?"

"Yes," he said in a strangely muted voice. "But I can't."

"Why_ not?_"

His mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Because if I speak in my defense, I'll start laughing. And I don't want you cutting my curtains."

Caroline stared at him, stunned that he found this even remotely amusing. She too wanted to laugh, but she also had the distinct feeling it would sound far more deranged than his. That alone was a scary thought.

"This is funny to you?" she growled.

"I believe the phrase _in a cosmic sense_ applies here," Klaus said candidly, a hint of his usual smirk cracking through.

That freaking figured, she decided in agonizing frustration. This was, of course, the man who thought that a prom dress theft was also a subject to be addressed with mirth. Granted, he had come through for her, but he'd still laughed first.

When would men understand that these things were _not_ funny? Amy Schumer was funny. Damon Salvatore tearing his favorite leather jacket was funny. Hell, when she was drunk, _Marcel_ had drawn a laugh or two from her; therefore, funny. Property damage and petty thievery on what was supposed to have been a magical night? Not even close to hilarity.

"I'm real glad you being such a jerk is worth it," she muttered.

Klaus managed to almost hide his smile again. "Most women would be more upset I grabbed their throats."

"I can handle myself," said Caroline stiffly.

"I know."

He didn't offer anything more, and with that Caroline felt the last of her fury slowly draining from her. She turned her head so he wouldn't see how quickly she was calming. He didn't deserve to be let off _that_ easily.

Caroline understood she'd hurt his feelings, but that hardly made it okay for him to trash her place. Once her initial crushing depression had passed, she'd used that to focus some anger and regain the Big Girl Leggings she'd somehow lost in the midst of their argument. And she'd come over with a mixed intent of ripping into him and apologizing, but now that she had done the former, she wasn't certain how to do the latter.

Really, it would have gone so much better in reverse order.

Before she could think of something to say, Klaus quietly cleared his throat. The struggle to restrain his mirth seemed over, and his expression was neutral again. "But where are my manners? Please, come on in." He smirked, acknowledging that they both knew that was an unnecessary invite at this point. Still, Caroline pursed her lips and closed the door behind her without complaint. "Would you like a drink?"

"Not really," she said.

Klaus shrugged and began to walk down the hall. It seemed he was going to help himself either way. With a resigned sigh, Caroline followed him. She glanced up toward the stairs, half-expecting to catch Hope watching them with her piercing hazel eyes.

But the upstairs seemed quiet.

Klaus led her to a large room that probably would have been the living room in most houses. Here it was a den-slash-bar mixture, with dark, rich colors setting a solemn mood. The bar held a spread that had to be stupidly easy for Hope to reach if she were so inclined, with corked crystal bottles and a variety of glasses in the drawers beneath the alcohol. Caroline watched skeptically as he poured a drink.

"Not to be a nag, but isn't this too easy for your kid to get to?"

Klaus shot her a sideways glance. Fortunately, he didn't seem overly upset. For once. "Hope knows better."

"So did I," she said drily. "Still raided my dad's Scotch when I was thirteen."

He poured himself a drink of the very same amber liquid. "And how often did this occur?"

Caroline hesitated, realizing what he was driving at. "Once," she admitted.

Klaus raised his glass in a mock salute, pausing to sniff the liquor before taking a sip. "As I said. Hope knows better. Her mother would be more furious than I."

With a grimace, Caroline declined to ponder on all that implied. "Look, I wanted to talk about… this morning."

The muscles in his shoulders tensed beneath his shirt. Klaus carefully avoided her gaze, choosing instead to focus on his drink with a stronger swallow.

Exhaling slowly, Caroline tried to dredge up the words she'd silently chanted to herself the entire way to the King's manor. "I didn't mean that I thought Hope should go because I don't want you to be with your kid or anything like that."

Klaus did spare her a look then, although it was unreadable. "I'm listening," he said heavily.

This was probably going to incite more rage, but Caroline had already resolved herself to tell him. She set her jaw, spreading her feet slightly to prepare herself to possibly be yanked off her feet again. "It's because I know you don't know she's a witch."

Disappointingly, his eyes dimmed as though he'd lost respect for her. Irritation began to spark within him, quickly lighting the surface. "A witch cannot be a vampire, nor a werewolf, and certainly not a hybrid," he said condescendingly.

She held firm. "I know. Law of nature and all that. But Hope broke the laws well before she became a hybrid." She was hedging a guess, of course. Élodie had not expounded upon whether Hope had been born or turned hybrid, but knowing Klaus, she could hazard a good guess.

Sure enough, Klaus's voice went coarse as it did in the past when he'd begun to lose control. "It's not possible. She's never shown signs."

Caroline dared to take a step closer. "I know it's crazy, but considering you—"

"_My daughter is not a bloody witch!_"

A crack loud as a gunshot rang out. Neither of them had moved, but Klaus's hand was covered in booze and blood, the remnants of his glass glittering in his palm and upon the floor. His wounds rapidly healed, but the stench remained, shooting straight to Caroline's head in a zap of unreal giddiness.

Doing her best to keep her voice soothing, she said, "_If_ she was _also_ a witch, because she's clearly not any less hybrid, my thinking was that she wouldn't be safe here."

Klaus glared icy daggers at her. His body shook with the slightest of tremors, as though it took everything he had not to lash out at her. Progress, she thought with grim relief.

"How did you reach this conjecture?" he asked in a gravelly voice.

This was the hard part. Caroline knew there was already a connection there, but the deeper this conversation went, the more her gut told her that something stormy lurked beneath this potential conspiracy. In a way, this would probably lend some credence to Klaus's paranoia.

"Élodie told me," she said.

At first he stared at her in sheer disbelief. Then, as the gears worked furiously in his head, that disbelief became outrage. Klaus whirled from her, pacing toward the open window to scowl outside as though Élodie would just magically appear.

Well. She probably could. But Caroline doubted she would.

Sure enough, when Klaus turned to her again, he was waving his finger as he voiced his thoughts. "She told you this about my daughter," he said in what was practically a snarl. "But for what purpose? To split us up, scare you off? Actually attempt to separate me from Hope?"

Quietly, Caroline confided, "She said you asked for her help to protect me. And she said I didn't need it." Part of her wanted to chide him for thinking she even needed it, but now seemed not the time to have such a petty argument.

Klaus narrowed his eyes, the blue and green in his irises crackling like lightning. "Because she had no intention of protecting you. She's up to something, and it's certainly against me. The _bitch_," he swore.

While there were surely a vast variety of conspiracies parading through his head—these at least more valid than what he had toward her not hours before—Caroline didn't want to lose track of what bothered her. "Even if she is, I don't think she lied about Hope."

"Of course she did," Klaus muttered, waving a hand. "She just wants my daughter out of the way."

Caroline swallowed her frustration. "_Or_," she said with strained patience, "it's true, and she plans to use Hope somehow. Like maybe she's thinking you'll ask her to train her. That would leave Hope open for whatever she needed... if she needed anything."

They both watched each other then. With a jolt of electricity, Caroline realized they were both feeling out that possibility… and it felt perfectly right. While she often delighted in being right, especially in such a vague guessing game, it wrenched her heart to watch the transformation of Klaus's face. From shock to apoplectic rage to fear masked by horror masked again by devastation.

When he at last broke the silence, his voice came out in a choked whisper and broke her heart. "I have to send Hope away."

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><p><em>AN: Can I just say that Caroline's rant was **the** most fun thing to write ever? I've always loved her sense of priority, that the small details matter more than things that could harm her. I'm not sure how much of it is toughness and how much is denial, but damn, it makes her feisty and **so** delightful to write! And yes, Klaus's reaction to her prom dress freak-out is one of the best things ever. In this world. I'm genuinely amazed there aren't more gifs of it; Klaus's reactions to her were the most endearing moments to me, and I've always thought it showed just what a bright, warm light Caroline is in his life._

_Many, many thanks for the continued support. I can't say how much the reviews mean to me. I hope those with a sense of odd humor will have as much fun with me when I focus on Confectionery Klaus for a while. I've made the decision to wrap this story up, focus on CK, and then if/when I write the sequel, I will add an epilogue to this story to alert readers to watch out for/look for the sequel on my home page (it will be noted in the summary that it's a sequel to ItSOCC). I'll make my plans clearer when I post the final "official" chapter for this one._

_And I hope those who enjoyed this will give CK a shot. Also, if anybody has any recommendations for me to read, let me know! I'm obviously big on dark!/violent!Klaus and sassy!Caroline._

_Okay, no more long author's notes. Hope everyone has a great winter/holiday!_


	22. Chapter 22: Rakhem Na Lekh

I still don't own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, any airlines, or the Aramaic language.

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><p>Tonight was an impromptu evening for Hope to spend with her aunt. Truthfully, Klaus was relieved. He had yet to inform his family of the probably new developments of the past couple hours, and so far he wasn't certain how best to broach the subject. Enormous changes were coming, abrupt changes, and for his daughter to understand, he would have to handle this with more delicate a hand than ever before. So Rebekah delighting her niece out on the town whilst Elijah and Hayley politely excused themselves from the premises bought him time and space to think.<p>

The only thing he wasn't sure about was if Caroline's presence was a welcome one or not.

After exchanging greetings with his brother and mother of his child—again—Caroline had helped herself to a healthy triple shot of whiskey. Now she sat on a loveseat in the middle of the room, one leg crossed over the other. Her expression twisted into deep pensiveness as she sipped the strong liquor. Klaus watched her dully, both comforted and agitated by her company.

Blonde curls tumbled in her face as she frowned at the hardwood floor, as though her thoughts were as jangled and troubled as his. Klaus reclined deep into his chair, debating what to do with her even as he mutely admired the way her carefully crafted brows stitched together. While a part of him desired her at his side, a small part of him, the part so used to being alone in a crisis, raised hackles at the idea of engaging himself that much more with her. If he wasn't careful—and Klaus wasn't certain he wanted to be, though he likely should—she would soon be so tangled in him and he in her that it would take a millennia to undo the damage they were capable of inflicting upon each other. Already this precarious new business with Hope threatened to affect them, to shatter the tentative idea of eternity into innumerable shards. After it was clear his daughter was in danger once more, Klaus was hit with the icy shock that his intent to be with the woman he respected—and loved, he thought distantly enough that he could almost ignore such a concept—seemed foolish and fleeting in the face of reality. Yet they continued to twine together, wrapped in such a complete circle, like an elegant engagement band on the finger of a young woman.

Quietly, Klaus said, "Call the Bennett witch."

Caroline's head snapped up. Her sharp blue eyes squinted in suspicion. "Why?"

Klaus leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and hands folded between them. He focused on the woman across the room, assuring his posture and tone were as intent as his expression. "I may no longer be able to trust Élodie either way this turns out. But if there's even a grain of truth to what she told you, I need it confirmed." Rage thickened the texture of his voice. "If I can't trust Élodie, I may have no reliable witches. But you do. Ergo, Bennett witch."

Caroline swirled the honeyed liquid in her glass, eyeing him warily. "Even if Bonnie _wanted_ to help you—and trust me, she won't—what exactly do you expect her to do? She's barely even a witch anymore."

"I don't care."

"Well, I do," she shot back. Firmness edged her voice. "So you'll have to convince me first."

Gritting his teeth, brief fantasies of snapping her lovely neck danced through Klaus's mind. He knew that tone, and he also knew it meant she wasn't budging without bloody good reason.

Rather than indulge in his fancy, he tightened his clasped hands into a knotted ball. "Firstly, I merely need her to confirm Hope's witchcraft. Short of maim or murder, I hardly care how. Secondly…" Klaus pulled his lips back from his teeth in what he knew was a disturbing smile. "Secondly, she won't be helping me. She'll be aiding a poor nine year-old untamed potential witch whose worst sin was having the misfortune of sharing genetics with her bastard father."

Caroline's jaw dropped at his last point. She appeared to struggle with his logic. At last, when her tongue loosened, she said, "That's manipulative."

Klaus's eyelids lowered slightly. "I don't expect you to understand," he said quietly.

"You're seriously going to make me do this?"

He supposed he deserved that after how he'd treated her the previous night. Still, he set his jaw and said stiffly, "No. I'm asking. And if you won't help me, I won't ask anything of you again."

Nor would he allow her to become any more entrenched in his life. Klaus loathed the way it tore him to think such things. It was _Caroline_. Had she never come into his life—or rather, he into hers—Klaus had doubts as to whether he would ever have come to tolerate Hayley or allow Hope to be born. Hell, for all he knew, he would have spurned Elijah's pleas and torn the woman asunder the moment the heartbeat had been confirmed.

But Caroline was as much a weakness as Hope, and if she didn't want to be on his side, then he couldn't afford to have her around. Callous, yes. Wretched, perhaps.

And the absolute truth, if he was to protect his own flesh and blood.

Klaus never had imagined he would be in a position where he would have to choose a woman he… loved… or a child he never should have had. He was a monster, had been a monster for nearly a thousand years. Had someone told him he would be in this position just two decades ago, he would have ripped their head off—_after_ hours of derisive laughter.

The truth was, he didn't want to choose. But he also knew that so long as Hope drew breath, she had to be his priority. Her well-being _had_ to come first. He was a terrible excuse for a breathing being, but his paternal ties diminished not. So he would leave the choice up to Caroline.

And he knew this wouldn't be the last time that choice would come up, should she hedge her bets and side with him.

Caroline observed him intensely. She stood and set down her glass, approaching him with the gentle clacking if heels on the floor trailing behind her. She stopped within a foot of him, folding her arms over her chest and meeting his gaze directly.

Instead of giving an answer, she murmured, "You've changed."

Klaus kept his pose deceptively lax, but his muscles were rigid. "Hardly."

"No, you really have," she said softly. "Maybe not much, but… enough." She fell quiet again, seemingly interested in his hands. Patience quickly wore thin inside Klaus, but he ordered himself to wait. This was a delicate matter, a balance of his selfish desire to keep both important women in his life, and he needed to allow her to make up her mind.

Bloody hell. Compulsion was so much easier.

"I… _might_ be able to get her to do something," she said at last.

Klaus was admittedly surprised, and he felt weak. But he summoned all his strength into standing and staying firm. "Then I suppose I owe you."

The corner of Caroline's mouth lifted slightly. "Friends don't have to owe each other, you know. But I guess you're still new to all that."

He gave her a tight smile, unwilling to comment on that.

She must have realized what had happened, because Caroline took a step back and diverted her gaze. "I'll shoot her a text. I'm sure she'll call me soon. Just let me find my purse."

"I'll be back," was all he said before striding out the door.

Initially Klaus had only planned to wait down the hall, but the moment he was out of her range of vision, and overwhelming, alien, loathsome desire to collapse struck him. Klaus teetered slightly, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. Soon enough he was steady again. Still, he needed space, and his room was the safest place.

Once he was alone and the door closed behind him, Klaus at last gave in to the hateful urges and collapsed to his bed. What _was_ this nonsense? Was her acceptance such a relief that it elicited such a terrible, strong response from his body?

He was madly in love with her.

Klaus would be an idiot to realize that he hadn't taken it seriously until this moment. Previous promises had been true, but he'd also had time on his side—and he didn't have the family he now had. Something had shifted in the past ten years, and Caroline returning to his life had made him realize just what he had to lose aside from family.

And chances were he would lose Caroline eventually. He understood that after this morning he hardly had the right to demand or even ask she stay. Just because she was still speaking to him, even aiding him, didn't mean he hadn't colossally damaged what the night before had meant.

Not more than an hour could have passed before she found him. Klaus remained lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, barely acknowledging her with a flicker of the eyes when she opened the door.

Caroline carefully closed the door behind her, striding over and sitting on his bed as though it were something she did on a regular basis. She waved her phone in his field of vision. "I talked to Bonnie. She's not thrilled, and she says she can barely help." She paused, then smiled faintly. "But she will."

"Good," murmured Klaus.

"But you have to pay for her flight. To and from," added Caroline. She set the phone on the mattress. "We're not all rich, you know."

Klaus gave a grim smile toward the sloped ceiling. "I'll ensure she has first class seating."

Their feeble attempt at banter lapsed into awkward silence. Klaus chose to close his eyes rather than continue watching her, his thoughts still a frustrating whirlpool of what-ifs and whys and wondering what else the bloody hell was wrong with him.

But Caroline wasn't content to stay quiet. "You gonna tell me what's bothering you, or should I go?"

Both options sounded vile to him in the moment. Klaus propped himself up on his elbow, casting her a dark scowl. "My daughter may be a witch and in imminent danger. The only reason I'm not out there is because Rebekah would sooner die than allow her to be hurt. So please forgive me if I'm not talkative."

Caroline's eyes glinted like hard gems. She raised her chin defiantly. "Then why haven't you made me leave? I did what you wanted."

He sat up completely then, tension cutting his patience to the quick. "While it was more than useful, I am attempting not to outright use you here, sweetheart," he growled.

"Yeah, and that itself makes me suspicious," she snapped.

He sneered. "Of my intentions?"

"No, of why you're moping so much."

"I am not moping."

"You locked yourself in your room and I'm guessing you didn't do anything but sit on your bed. Textbook example of moping," she pointed out.

His ire heated, but damn it all, he was sick of cutting it so close to fighting her. So Klaus did his best to swallow his temper, but when he spoke his voice was gravelly and… contemptibly weak, he thought in disgust. "I told you once. _Rakhem na lekh._"

This time she seemed to realize there was real context behind the words. "Aramaic again?" she asked. Klaus smirked. "And it means…?" she tried to coax, her restlessness nixing any calming effect her attempt may have had.

Klaus leaned in close, her natural scent having far better success in soothing him. Their faces nearly touched; stray strands of her hair tickled his cheek as they teased his stubble. In a low voice, he said, "Figure it out, love."

And with that it hit her. Caroline's eyes widened, and then she sighed heavily, closing her eyes without pulling away even a fraction. "I love you," she whispered. When he didn't answer, she looked at him again, trepidation pooling in her face so transparently that Klaus almost—_almost_—felt bad for tormenting her with the dead language.

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><p><em>AN: Sorry for the lapse in updates. Real life has been overly hectic for the holidays, and it doesn't look to be letting up anytime soon on my end (pregnancy, moving, stepkids' birthday, work, etc.). I'm sorry, but updates will continue come as I can get them out, as opposed to on a daily-weekly basis. If it helps at all, we have one more erotic scene before this story ends, so please look forward to it._

_I hope everyone had fun over the holidays! Please continue with the constructive criticism; it always helps._


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